


Bad Wolf

by LicieOIC



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Hansel and Gretel, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Snow White, Alternate Universe - The Frog Prince, Angst, BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Mind Control, Romance, Swearing, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 183,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mash-up of popular fairy tales set in modern day with the characters from Doctor Who. Clara is left by her fiance, five days before the wedding. It takes help from an unlikely source to pull her out of the tailspin. Rose is jaded about the whole thing and doesn't believe there's such a thing as "the one." All that changes when she meets a mysterious stranger at a bar. Amy is going head-to-head against Reinette the mega-bint for the next big promotion at work, while dealing with her crush on one of Reinette's assistants, Rory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a VERY dark story. There is dub-con, non-con, swearing, BDSM, and a lot of the characters at least start off pretty dark. I will try to put a trigger warning on chapters that I think need it, but please be forewarned. If this is not your cup of tea, please don't read it.

 

The road from London to Cardiff was generally quiet in the small hours of the night. Not very many people going to and from the direction of Wales while most decent people are asleep. So, the presence of a large black van rumbling across the asphalt was unusual. It pulled over into the dirt at the side of the road, idled, then stopped, the headlights turning off as the side door slid open in a hurry and a man rushed out, spewing what must have been his dinner all over a shrub. Several other people climbed out of the van as well, but only one went to him and began rubbing small circles on his back as he continued to vomit.

“Again?” asked a man with white blond hair, irritation plain in his hazel eyes as he stood next to the driver’s side door, hands on his hips.

“Sorry, Harry,” said the woman at the side of the sick man. She tossed her riot of curly bronze hair over her shoulder to look at the group. “You know Jack gets carsick.” This was punctuated with the dark haired man next to her throwing up again.

“We’ve been on the road for two hours, we can stop for a couple of minutes,” said a bleached blonde older woman near the front passenger door. “Personally, I don’t fancy Jack honking _inside_ the van.”

“Thanks, Jackie,” said the curly haired woman before looking back to Jack. “You alright, then, sweetie?”

“You know that I’ve been through worse, River,” he said, weakly, clutching his middle. “Gonna need a minute, though.”

Jackie walked a few paces away from their little group and crossed her arms over her chest, looking down the hill at the glowing lights of London. “Look. You can see our new home from here. Lovely, ain’t it?”

A tall, skinny man in a long, tan coat came to stand next to her, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his brown pin-striped trousers. His dark eyes looked out over the city, unimpressed. “Sure, my favorite part is how it manages to look cheap and yet be insanely expensive at the same time. It’s just great.”

“Could you try to be a _bit_ more positive, Theta?” asked Jackie, rolling her eyes at his sarcasm.

“Yes, I could,” Theta said with a smile that said he had no intention of doing so.

“We didn’t have a choice,” said Jackie. “We had to move.”

“How long am I supposed to accept ‘because I said so’ as an acceptable answer?” asked Theta, tilting his head back toward Harry.

The blond man in the black hoodie stepped forward, frowning. “Your problem with authority got old a long time ago, Theta,” said Harry. “If you want to run with this pack, I’d better not have to tell you to keep it in check again.”

“Ooh, a threat!” said Theta, taking his hands from his pockets to wiggle his fingers at Harry. “Hold on, I want to add it to the tally...”

“Listen, you little whelp--”

Theta closed the distance between them in two strides. _“What_ did you call me?” he said, his voice gone low and hard.

Harry didn’t back down, he stepped right up to the taller man, somehow managing to look imposing despite the few inches difference in height. “You heard what I said, I’ll call you whatever I bloody well feel like!”

The two men growled at each other, eyes flashing fire, before Jackie stepped between them, pushing Theta away. “Now, stop it! Both of you!”

Harry made a noise of disgust and turned back to the van, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. Theta was still glaring after him. Jackie touched his arm, feeling how tense the muscles were underneath the many layers he wore.

“Theta,” she said, calmly. “Cardiff was too dangerous. We were starting to get noticed.”

“And London’s population is so much lower?” he said through gritted teeth, but Jackie could tell he was trying to calm himself down. “Sure, when I think ‘wide open spaces,’ I think ‘London!’”

“You know, Theta,” said Harry around his cigarette in a mocking tone. “You didn’t _have_ to come with us. You could have stayed behind. Alone.” He flicked ash in the other man’s direction. “You remember what that’s like, don’t you? Being alone?”

Theta was silent for a moment before he turned to look back at the city, exhaling sharply.

“That’s what I thought,” said Harry, with a derisive smile.

From the bushes, Jack groaned. “It’s not like he had anything to keep him there.”

River slapped him in the arm. “Oi! Rude!”

Jack flinched slightly, but more from realizing he’d said something he shouldn’t have than actual pain. “Sorry. Puked too hard. Wasn’t thinking.”

Jackie looked up at Theta’s hard chiseled profile. “It’s time to move on, Theta,” she said quietly. “You know that better than anyone.”

“I think that might be up for debate,” he said, giving her a significant look.

She looked away. “Let’s not go there.” She turned to look at Jack and River. “Hey, you alright there?”

Jack coughed and accepted the napkin River held out for him. “I think so.” He wiped his face.

“About time,” said Harry. “Get back in the van with the others.” River helped Jack get into the vehicle and Jackie climbed back into the front passenger side. Harry looked over at Theta’s back with a smirk. “Theta, you’re free to walk.”

There was a pause before Theta’s shoulders slumped. With a sigh, he turned and went back to the van, sliding the door closed after him. Harry gave a low chuckle before tossing the stub of his fag on the ground and grinding it out with his foot. He got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Moments later, the van rumbled to life and continued its journey down into the city below.

* * *

_A Year Passed_

* * *

"No, no, I already told you!" Clara sighed and leaned back from the stationary bike's handlebars, legs still pumping. She re-adjusted the telephone headset that was starting to make her ear ache. "Ms. Poisson can't have any appointments before noon. She already has commitments to make at that time."

"Yeah, like getting a massage on company time," muttered Rose, from the cluttered table beside the bike. She reached underneath a pile of papers and retrieved a large bag of candy conversation hearts. As she filled up another plastic champagne glass, she shook her head at Clara.

Clara answered by rolling her large dark brown eyes at her friend. "No, I can't move anything around. What about moving some things on your end?... What do you mean, he's booked through the end of the month?... No! No, he doesn't need to find another advertising firm..." She pinched the bridge of her nose to fight off the coming migraine. "What if I had someone working for Ms. Poisson come meet with him?"

"You're already doing too much, Clara," Rose said as she tied a knot in the pink ribbon. "You shouldn't let Reinette work you like a dog."

 _How many times have I heard that?_ thought Clara, but she was too busy scribbling in a fat appointment book to acknowledge what she knew was absolutely true. "Seven a.m; got it." She threw the pen and appointment book down on the table, grabbed the towel hanging from the handle bars, and wiped the sweat from her brow, all while continuing to pedal. "All right, it's entered into the calendar. Thank you."

No sooner had she hung up the headset that a silver mobile on the crowded table began deedling _Close to You._ Just the first eight notes, over and over.

"I hate that bloody song!" Rose groaned.

"Reinette programmed it like that, so I'll pick it up sooner," Clara said before pressing the talk button. "Clara Oswald." Closing her eyes, she groaned silently. "What do you mean, you're out of baby's breath? Baby's breath is _always_ in season! Hold on a second..." Without pausing in her exercise, she leaned over the table and dug through a pile of paper, sending a cascade of papers, empty plastic bags, and tulle to the floor.

"I don't know how you can find anything in this disaster of a flat," said Rose, casting a glance at the small space that had obviously seen cleaner days. Wedding preparations were thrown everywhere, along with clothes Clara just didn't have time to take to the laundry, folios from work that still needed proof-reading, and everything else that needed to be sorted through and organized.

Clara held the phone to her chest to muffle the sound. "It's not easy when I had to move into a flat half the size of the one I was living in. I'll clean it when I move out of here and into Adam's flat." Underneath a list of guests, she found the receipt for the florist. "Ah! Here we go..." She brought the phone back up to her ear. "It says right here, red roses, baby's breath... Yes, I'm looking at my invoice right now... How can you possibly think that it looks like ‘yellow?’... Uh-huh... Uh-huh..."

"I told you not to use that florist," said Rose as she ripped open another package of tulle rounds with her teeth.

Clara covered the receiver with her other hand. "He's the cheapest one in town," she said before going back to the conversation. "All right, all right, fine. Yellow, it is... No, I'm not going to pay extra!... Because you're the ones who cocked up my order!"

A black mobile on the table began tooting _Hollaback Girl._

"Ugh!" said Rose. "It's like she reached into my brain and pulled out the songs I would hate the most!"

"Hold on," Clara told the florist before flipping open the second phone with her teeth. "Clara Oswald... No, dad, the guest list has been finalized, I can't add another fifty people... Because we won't have enough seats at the hall or food at the reception... Who are these people, anyway?... Uh-huh... Uh-huh..."

"It's not too late to back out now," said Rose. "You've still got five days until the wedding."

"Look, dad, this really isn't a good time," Clara was saying. "Dad... Dad!... Dad, I've got another call, I'll call you back." She switched phones. She was beginning to sound quite out of breath from having so many conversations while keeping up her pace on the stationary bike. "Mr. Salard? Can you hold on for just one more minute?" Switch. "Clara Oswald... Hi, Reinette... Yes, you don't have to meet with him anymore. I'll just take the portfolio... What? The proposal's not finished?"

Rose's head shot up. "Don't do it, Clara."

"You want me to come in tonight?"

 _"Don't_ do it."

"I can't. I have plans. It _is_ my day off." Clara grinned at Rose's thumbs up, but a moment later, her face fell. _"How_ early tomorrow morning?"

"Don't!"

"Are you sure there's no one else who can--" For a moment, Clara considered trying to strangle the phone, but her voice was perfectly calm when she spoke again. "Sure, six a.m; no problem." She flipped the phone shut and raised the other back up to her ear. "Mr. Salard, are you still there?... No, red was my original order, not yellow!" She sighed. "Okay, I can come down there... How about tomorrow, around one?"

"That's your lunch hour."

Clara shrugged at her. "Okay, thanks, bye." She punched the end button and tossed the phone on the table. "AUGH!"

"I'm serious," said Rose. "You're headed straight for a nervous breakdown if you keep this up. Not only is The Bitch working you day and night, but you're using every other spare minute planning this wedding all by yourself. You're marrying a wanker, you know that, right?"

"Adam isn't any good at planning things, you know that. And this way, I get the wedding exactly how I want it."

"That's what he told you to convince you into doing this, isn't it?"

"Well..."

"Complete and utter wanker! He doesn't treat you right, he's a whinging, bitchy, little three-year-old, _and_ he's been cheating on you."

"We don't know that for sure..."

"Riiiiiiiiight. And these are crap, by the way," she said, holding up a candy heart filled champagne glass wrapped in tulle.

"It's... all I can afford right now."

"God forbid Adam should spend any money on the wedding."

"Look, Adam may be an wanker, but he's _my_ wanker. And marrying a wanker is better than an endless stream of meaningless relationships, Rose." Clara gave her a pointed look. "You can't tell me that you don't feel empty."

"Of course, I feel empty. I can't have sex _all_ the time."

Clara tilted her head at Rose in confusion. "What? I wasn't talking about--" At her friend's raised eyebrow and sly tongue-touched smile, the meaning clicked into her head. "Rose! That's not what I meant!"

Rose grinned. "I know. I just love to tease you. You're so cute when you pretend to be shocked. Come on, we've been friends for how long? You can drop the virgin act. I know what you've done. You are _not_ a virgin."

"Yes, I am!"

"Oh, no, you're not. It’s fine, Clara, not being a virgin on your wedding day is no big deal anymore. This century is very modern, you know."

"Technically, I still am."

"Yeeeeeah. And technically, my bra is a thirty-four C. It just also happens to be every other size leading up to it, too!"

“Maybe it’s not a big deal to you, Rose, but that’s you. It’s a matter of pride for me. I _waited_ for the right bloke, for my Prince Charming. That means something.”

Rose snorted. “Adam is your Prince Charming. Wow.” She plopped the bag of candy down on the table to give Clara a direct look. "Answer me this... Has his naked throbbing cock been anywhere near you?"

"Rose!"

"Just answer the question."

"Well... Yeah, it's been _near..."_ Her face reddened.

"That's sex, Clara."

"It is not!"

"I'm not having the 'penetration argument' with you again!" She wagged a finger at her. "You cannot call yourself a virgin. You've punched your 'V' card so many times, it's like swiss cheese!"

“I’m not going to agree with you, so you can just give up now.”

Rose huffed. "Fine. You can be the 'everything, but' virgin."

"I really don't like the way that sounds." Clara rolled her eyes. "I've got an idea. Let's not argue about this."

“Fine." She set to work filling up the glasses again. "Let's go back to our first argument."

"Rose..." she groaned.

"Come on, Clara. Can you honestly tell me that feeling empty sometimes is worse than tying yourself to an absolute wanker?"

"Don't you ever want something permanent, Rose?" Clara asked. "I do. I like the whole 'lasting' idea. I want someone to come home to. Someone I know will be there in the morning. Adam's not perfect, but neither am I. Sure, it's a risk, but..."

The timer at the head of the bike beeped and Clara slumped off of it with a sigh. She grabbed the enormous water bottle from the floor and downed about half of the contents before climbing on the treadmill on the other side of the table.

"You're going to faint if you keep this up. Are you even eating? You look like a twig!" Rose said.

"I've got a size two wedding gown to fit into, and I _will_ fit into it by the wedding, damn it!"

"At least tell me you're doing it for yourself." At the following silence, Rose groaned. "Clara! That knob did NOT tell you to lose weight!"

"I'm doing it for myself, too... I don't want to look at my wedding pictures and think what a cow I was."

"Shut it, and shut it right now. It's not like you even needed to lose weight, you were a size four.”

Next to the first two phones, a pink one began playing the theme from _Titanic._

"Okay, this is really starting to push the bounds of what can be termed 'music,' Clara," said Rose.

"Clara Oswald." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, she's here." She extended the phone to Rose. "It's for you."

"Oh, God. If they're trying to reach me here, it can only be one of three people." She reluctantly took the phone. "Hello?... Hi, Lynda," Rose mumbled at her younger sister. Her forehead furrowed in annoyance. "What? No!... Because I'm busy!... More importantly, I don't want to... I just don't feel like going to a club tonight, okay?"

Clara knew instantly what Lynda was trying to talk Rose into: Reinette and her two lackeys, Christina and Lynda, needed a fourth to go on the pull. Clara had been rejected as the Triumvirate's 'filter' ever since they decided she was ‘too pretty.’ While she still considered her looks to be somewhat unremarkable, as a cock-blocker she had lost her appeal to the three goddesses. They’d said Rose, however, was perfect, as according to them she looked ‘nice enough to be seen with them, but her chav-tastic bleached hair meant she was no threat to their game.’

Clara clasped her hands together in a gesture of supplication. _Please? Please?_ she mouthed. If Rose took them all out for a few hours, there would be three less people trying to call her.

Rose hesitated, then sighed. "When do you want me to pick you up?" she asked, monotone. "Fine." She flipped the phone shut and scowled at Clara. "You owe me."

"I already owe you."

She shrugged. "What's a few thousand pounds between friends? This is my sanity I'm talking about."

"Since when have you ever been sane?"

"Point taken." Rose stood and grabbed her red coat off the back of the chair she had been sitting on. "I'd better go. I should throw on some more clothes before I go pick them up, they like it when I manage to look chubby."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you--"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"And thank you for helping me with the favors."

"When would you find time to do it? Besides, I only get to see you when I'm helping you with something."

"I'm sorry."

"None of that, now." She smiled and shrugged into her coat. "I'll meet you and Amy for dinner tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Right. See you."

"I'd hug you, but you're all sweaty. And, to be honest, you smell. See you."

Rose opened the door to the flat and standing in the doorway, fist raised and ready to knock, was the brown-eyed, black haired wanker Clara was to marry that week.

"Adam," both women greeted him at the same time; one happily, one annoyed.

Pointedly, Rose checked her watch. "You're right on time, Adam. The work's about done."

"Very funny, Rose," he said, rolling his eyes. He aimed his thumb toward Rose's car in the driveway, blocking the space he would normally park in. "Would you mind?"

"Don't worry, I was just leaving. Something that, for once, has nothing to do with your arrival." She looked back at Clara who was just climbing off the treadmill. "Bye, Clara." The door closed behind her.

Clara removed the headset and blotted her face with the towel. _Bollocks,_ she thought. _I wish he would call before he comes by, I look like hell!_ "I wasn't expecting you," was all she said, smiling. "This is a nice surprise. If you give me ten minutes, I can take a shower and change out of these sweats. Maybe we could get something to eat..."

"Maybe," he said, his eyes shifting away from hers. "Uh, Clara--"

 _Close to You_ cut off what he would have said.

"Hold on," she said, rolling her eyes and picking up the silver phone. "Clara Oswald... Yes, he’s confirmed for this Friday, I sent you an email on this... You never got it?... No, I absolutely sent it to you... Yesterday... Well, I have a copy at-- You found it." She sighed. "Great. We'll see him on Friday." She punched the end button and turned her attention back to Adam. "Sorry about that. What were you going to say?"

"Well--"

The theme from _Titanic._

"UGH!" She picked up the pink phone. "Clara Oswald... Yes, Rose already left... Right after Lynda called... She'll be there soon, okay?" She flipped it shut. "Seriously, I feel like the maid for those three."

"Look, Clara, I stopped by because--" The headset phone began ringing. A sigh of frustration exploded from him as she turned to answer it. "I'll come back later. You're obviously busy."

 _He always makes it sound like I make the phone ring on purpose,_ was what she thought, but out loud she said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

He glared at her. It was always the expression he gave her when he was annoyed. "I'm never that important to you."

She put the phone down. "I'm sorry. You know I'm always doing five things at once, but that in no way makes you less important." She held up her hands. "No more answering the phone while you're here tonight, I promise. That's what voice mail is for, right?"

He didn't say anything. Again, his eyes slid away.

She furrowed her brows. "What is it?"

* * *

Jack rushed up to the buffet, practically pressing his nose up to the sneeze guard. “Look, River! All-you-can-eat shrimp! They have a big tub of it!”

River came up next to him, at a more normal pace. “Just go easy, this time, yeah? You remember what happened last time you ate too much shellfish.”

“But it’s all-you-can-eat.”

“And I’ll be the one who decides how much that actually is for you.”

Harry walked past them on the way to a large booth near the back of the restaurant. “If you two don’t shut it, I’m going to punch you both in the mouth.”

No one said a word until they’d taken their seats.

Jackie looked to Harry expectantly. “All right. What’s the big news?”

“We’re not all here, yet,” said Harry.

“Well, Theta called,” said River. “He said he was gonna be a little late. He had work today.”

“He works the lunch shift,” said Harry, annoyed. “It’s half eight. He’s doing this on purpose.”

“Don’t rush to conclusions,” said Jackie, reasonably. “I’m sure he’ll be along...”

Theta sauntered up to the table then, a towering plate of food in his hand. “Oi, have you lot tried the shrimp? And they have prime rib! All for under six pounds! I just love London.”

“You hated it here a year ago,” said Jack.

“I’m entitled to change my mind.” He plopped down next to River and set his plate on the table, shoving a few chips in his mouth in the process.

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Harry, glaring at him.

“Here,” said Theta. “I don’t know where you all have been, but I’ve been here for an hour and a half. I’m on my sixth plate of chips!”

“Then why didn’t you come over right away when you saw us?”

Theta shrugged. “I was avoiding you.”

Harry slammed a fist down on the table, rattling everything on it, as he growled at the other man. Jackie just rolled her eyes, muttering, “Oh, good God, Theta...”

Theta ignored them both and carelessly sprinkled salt on his food. “So, there was some _news_ you wanted to tell us?”

Harry glared at Theta for a moment longer, before reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He tossed a handful of cinema tickets onto the table. “We’re going to a movie premiere. It’s in a couple of weeks.”

“How exciting!” said River. “What’s it about? Who’s in it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry. “We’re not going for the movie, we’re going there to look for corruption.”

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” said Theta, suddenly uninterested in his meal.

“You have a problem?” asked Harry, his eyes beginning to spark with green and gold fire.

“We’ve been laying low all this time and now we’re looking for prey at a movie premiere?” He scoffed. “That sounds, oh, I don’t know, _very_ public.”

“He’s got a point, Theta,” said River. “What’s more corrupt than Hollywood?”

“We’re not _in_ Hollywood, River,” said Jack.

“No,” said Harry. “We’re in London. And corruption is everywhere.”

Theta reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of brown-rimmed glasses and set them on his nose before reaching for one of the tickets. “Then why are we going to a movie premiere,” he squinted at the ticket, “and after-party, apparently, when we can walk down the street and find appropriate prey? Why should we go out into the open like this?”

“Because I--”

“Yeah,” Theta interrupted Harry. “Because you said so.” He tossed the ticket back onto the pile and removed his glasses, tucking them safely back inside his jacket. “Sod it. You lot go. Have a fantastic time. But count me out.”

“Theta, you’re a part of this pack,” said Jackie. “We run together, remember?”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry cut in. “He can always go it alone.”

Theta stood up from the table. “I’d rather be alone than be a part of this bollocks. I’ll hunt my own prey.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away from the table. Harry crossed his arms, glaring after him.

“He’ll be back. He won’t last a week on his own.” He raised his voice loud enough for Theta’s retreating form to hear him. “He’ll show up at the premiere if he knows what’s good for him!”

Theta turned around and gave Harry the two fingered salute, then continued out of the restaurant. Nearly everyone but Harry and Jackie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well. That went well,” said Jack. He slid Theta’s abandoned plate in front of himself, gesturing to River. “Shrimp?”

* * *

"He said, 'I just don't feel the we-ness.'"

Amy and Rose both swallowed hard, trying to keep the Tequila Sunrises from shooting out of their noses. Amy buried her head against Rose's shoulder, stifling weird snorting noises, while Rose stared at Clara from behind her rectangular glasses in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," said Rose. "He said he couldn't feel the _what?"_ She was beginning to chuckle, and Amy's face was turning redder by the second.

Clara knew they didn't mean to laugh at her pain. Even someone as tactless as Amy could be wouldn't be inclined to laugh at someone whose fiancé had left her five days before the wedding. But she also knew, better than most, that Adam always had a subtle way of phrasing things that could make even the sanest person pull out their hair in fits of laughter. She could hardly blame them. She'd been crying uncontrollably for a week straight, unable to tell her two friends the whole story. And now that she could bring herself to discuss it, to reveal something that sounded so incredibly dumb to the ears was her undoing these past seven days; she might have laughed herself if she could have remembered how.

"Come on," said Amy, her voice tinged with a lilting Scottish burr. "What was that he said?"

Clara rolled her eyes and sighed. "...The we-ness."

The entire wing of the restaurant seemed to reverberate with the sound of their roaring laughter. The glasses behind the bar rattled and for a moment, she was sure the bottles of alcohol would burst and shower anyone nearby with their contents.

"It's not that funny."

"Oh, yes, it is!"

It _was_ pretty stupid of him, she had to admit. She stabbed the hot fudge sundae before her relentlessly, her fourth since this morning, as she vented her righteous anger to her two best friends. "I had been busy with work and the wedding plans, but I had made every effort to make time for him. He was the one who had been distant, 'working late,' never helping out with the wedding..."

"How many girls had he been seeing?"

Clara finished her Diet Coke in one long swallow before answering. "Three. Adam's friends told me. Since he couldn't feel the 'we-ness' with me, he felt it with as many other women as possible. I don't even know how many he's seeing now..."

She could feel her throat starting to close up again, but her body had no more tears left in it to come forth. She'd cried all night after Adam had left the flat. Her phones had rung, unheeded, during that time, earning her a lecture from Reinette when she'd gone into work the next day. She hadn't wanted to go, crying at work was a humiliation she'd hoped to forgo in this lifetime, but calling in sick was a pipe dream. Each day for the past week, every tiny little thing had set off another bout of crying. Of course, the Triumvirate had taken much glee in this new game, 'Who Can Make Clara Cry The Fastest?' As much as Reinette paid her to take the amount of shit she did, as she had sat in the farthest corner of the women's toilet with a box of tissues and a purse full of candy bars, she began to wonder if it was worth it.

In lieu of the relief crying granted her, she relied on the comfort that sugar offered. With intense fervor, she devoured another glob of chocolate-covered ice cream. After all, she didn't need to diet and exercise herself to death anymore. She had no need of the eight thousand pound wedding gown she'd bought with Rose's money. It hung like a ghostly skeleton in the back of her closet, waiting for a day that was never going to come.

The sugar should have soothed her nerves or at least distracted her, and if it hadn't, then the atmosphere should have. The three of them loved Cafe Tardis, their favorite bistro. The waiters often joked that the girls were there so much, they should start getting a salary. It was a new building that had been artistically painted to look like an out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall type place that might have stood there since forever. Distressed plastic ivy had been stapled to the stucco walls and brown string and glue simulated roots digging into the faux finish. Inside, there were intentionally cracked rust brown tiles on the floor and moss had been sponge-painted on by someone who was obviously too crafty for their own good. None of the plates, glasses, or flatware matched, in a purposely eclectic manner. The food that was served was very obviously not authentic, and the drinks were astonishingly strong. The servers were mostly male and cute and they pretended to give a rat's ass, even if they didn't actually like the person whom they were serving, smiling through bleached white teeth. Clara found comfort in the completely fake. Like Disneyland, while surrounded by falseness, she could believe she was the happiest person on earth.

But not that night. As she spoke to her two best friends about Adam's betrayal, anger welled like a dam inside her. Where there was emptiness, rage overflowed. Feeling the swirling, boiling volcano of fury just grow exponentially the more she talked about it, she knew the wrath would soon become a tangible thing and explode in an eruption that would take down the entire city if she didn't get some release soon. Wasn't venting the venom to friends supposed to make you feel better?

Or perhaps it was the five Diet Cokes she had swallowed down that was causing the sudden blockage. In fact, that particular problem was becoming more of an issue than the rage and anger combined at the moment. A volcano must have its natural outlet, after all.

"I gotta use the loo," Clara announced, perhaps a bit louder than she should have, as she rose from her seat to head to the ladies.’

Amy and Rose smiled broadly at her; Amy with her head in her hand and her elbow on the table, Rose with her elbow on Amy’s shoulder, each woman wore the look of peace and bliss that comes with being romanced by the sweet kiss of Jose Cuervo. Both women looked as though they might pass out or start giggling - or pass out from giggling. Knowing her two friends way too well, Clara expected the twittering laughter to start at any second.

"You want me to go with you?" Amy asked, eyes glassy and speech a bit slurred, her head dipped a bit, her ginger hair spilling down to the fiberglass antiqued table like deep red syrup from a bucket.

"No, I'm a big girl. I can go alone. You, however, don't look like you could walk by yourself."

"True," Amy said as Clara turned away.

"Clara?" said Rose.

She looked back. "Hmm?"

"Remember, he's a bastard, and someday he'll spontaneously combust."

She smiled. Gotta love Rose-isms. "Thanks. That means a lot."

"Hey, Clara!" Amy slurred after her.

"What?"

"Weeeeeee-nesssssss!" she screeched. "Oh, God! WEEEEEE-NEEEEESS!" She threw her hands in the air and began to shriek with laughter like some psychotic bird having an asthma attack as Rose joined in.

Clara wasn't sure if she should laugh with them, or cry in fury, but nature was telling her that she'd be standing in a puddle if she didn't get to a toilet soon. She walked quickly toward the hallway at the corner of the restaurant. In the loo, nothing could go wrong. Everything went as expected in the loo. No surprises. At least, there weren't, until she looked at the couple sitting in the booth next to the hallway.

 _He's had his hair cut._ She had no idea why the first thing she should notice would be his hair, but the black mass that had never done anything but lay there like road kill was now cut and styled, with some kind of product in it making it look super shiny. He was also wearing the garnet red, button-down silk shirt that she had bought him for Christmas, and a pair of brand-new jeans. _Is... Is that a manicure? Holy God, there's clear nail polish and everything._ When she remembered to breathe, she could smell that he had changed his cologne from the cheap crap to something that was probably endorsed by some designer who emblazons their name on underwear.

Worse still, Adam was smiling and nodding at the tallest pile of peroxide, silicone, and collagen Clara had ever seen. She was a statuesque model-type, definitely taller than Clara’s tiny form, and she was draped, barely, in cream chiffon, with rose-painted lips and kohl-lined turquoise eyes. Clara could feel herself shrinking in comparison as she glanced at her own mousy brown hair she hadn't had the time or the money to get taken care of and her faded gray university sweatshirt and exercise pants she had almost literally fallen into that morning before work. Her puffy brown eyes narrowed at Adam who looked like he hadn't lost any sleep over her at all.

For a moment, all of the anger she'd just been feeling swelled dangerously and threatened to come up to the top, blasting in Pandora's Box-like fashion at the former object of her devotion. But as she glanced from Adam to the gorgeous woman and back again, the courage that came with murderous anger shriveled and cowered before the almighty self-consciousness that had always held her in its thrall. She ducked into the hallway and ran for the women's toilet door, praying she hadn't been noticed. After securely locking the faux oak stall door behind her, she sat down.

Clara had no idea how many times she had gone wee in her life, but she had never done it with such fury and raw hatred for everything around her. In her anger, she imagined forcing out a stream so powerful, it would crack the porcelain bowl in half and dig a deep groove in the floor, exposing the soil, the pipes, the center of the earth, and perhaps even Hell itself. It was a piss of rage, a piss of anguish, a piss to end the world. Not only was she angry with the pillock sitting maybe fifteen feet away, but angry with the entire world as she knew it and the way it worked.

 _How can someone who has screwed me over so badly and tortured me with words and emotions be living the good life while I wallow in the muck?_ she screamed internally, the words echoing within the privacy of her mind. _How can it be that I am sitting in the loo of my favorite bistro waiting for the world to end because I can't face my ex? I was supposed to see him next when I was fine and looking fabulous and able to wish him all the happiness I could... Only one thing for it. I'm in Hell._

Once she'd finished, sadly leaving the toilet intact, she opened the door to enter another level of Hell. There she was at the sink, applying another layer of lipstick, seeming as tall as a redwood and twice as majestic. She turned to meet Clara's gaze with a shy smile and a hint of pity in her shiny deep sapphire eyes.

"You must be Clara."

Her voice was a husky alto, almost like Marlene Dietrich, but kind of strange on the ears. Soothing, and oddly attractive. Clara found herself offering a hand to the woman, which she took with her perfectly manicured acrylics.

"Adam saw you when we came in. I'm Jane. Adam and I met today."

"How nice," Clara choked out. _He saw me and still came inside? He really just doesn't care about my feelings._

"I hope you don't mind, but he told me about the, um... well... the unpleasantness between you."

"Oh, did he?" she said, trying for nonchalant, but it probably came out as bitchy. "What did he say?"

"Well... He said that 'there are women in this world that a man needs for stability, and women that the same man would leave the stable one for,'" she said in a manner that was more casual than insulting as she brushed a stray blond hair from her perfect eyes.

There was something about Jane that Clara couldn't place. In the midst of all the rage, something was bugging her about the woman before her, and she searched for what it could be... Then, as Jane re-adjusted a crepe scarf at her throat, there it was.

_Oh. My. God._

An Adam's apple.

She stood bewildered for a moment, caught between a stunned gasp and a giggle of perverse glee. _Ha! Karma's on my side now! If Adam knows about this, then it's a good thing he called things off when he did. And if he doesn't... I can revel in some vengeful, silent tee-hees for a good long time._

"It's so very nice to meet you," Clara said, unable to help to the smile that was spreading across her face. "I hope you and Adam have a lovely time."

"Thank you," said Jane with an answering smile. "Here..." She reached into her reticule and produced a card. "If you like, why don't you give me a call and we can have coffee sometime?"

"Sure," said Clara, absently sticking the card in the pocket of her sweat pants. _I'd love to have a... tee-hee... blow-by-blow account of tonight's events,_ she thought, feeling as though perhaps the world was not so terrible after all.

As she walked Jane back to the table, Adam shot straight up in his seat at the sight of the two of them together.

"Clara!" he exclaimed.

"Adam. You're looking well."

"Uh, yeah..." His eyes shifted from one woman to the other, perhaps looking for signs of a cat fight in the loo.

"Jane told me what you said about women."

"Look, Clara, let's not have a scene..."

"Adam, please. I'm not going to make a scene. I just want you to know..." She leaned in and patted him on the shoulder with a broad smile. "You deserve Jane. Good luck with the we-ness. I'm sure you'll be feeling it very soon."

He blinked in surprise. "Well... Thanks."

"Or something like it," Clara added under her breath as she nearly skipped back to her table. _I wonder if I should tell Amy and Rose everything now, or wait until they're sober enough to enjoy it..._

* * *

Clara's digital bedside clock read 3:35am in bright red numbers when the phone rang that night. Dimly, she tried to register which phone it was. It took her two more rings before she realized it was her home line, the one that never rang.

Not bothering to pull her head out of the covers, she reached over to the nightstand, groped around a bit, and finally picked up the receiver of her princess phone. "Hello?" she mumbled.

"You vindictive bitch!"

She blinked. "...Dad?"

"No, not 'Dad!'"

"...Adam." Her brain clicked. Then she began to giggle.

"You planned the whole thing, didn't you?" he accused her, loudly.

"No, but I sure as hell wish I had!" she said, sitting up and folding her legs under her, very awake now. "Did you have fun with feeling the we-ness, Adam? Because that's why you're calling, isn't it? Well, I guess you're right. We-ness is something I could never give you!"

"That's not funny!"

"Oh, are you going to have your boyfriend come beat me up?"

"Laugh all you want, Clara, but just think. While you were sobbing into your ice cream with your two friends--"

"I was _not_ sobbing."

"I was out with what I thought, at least, was a woman."

"Oh, yeah. That's WAY better."

"The point is, I've moved on, which is more than I can say for you!"

Clara bit her lip. He was kind of right. But she had enough sense not to let on that what he said had gotten to her. "I'm not so sure that you should go around bragging about what exactly you've moved on _to,_ Adam. That is, unless you want to come out of the closet--"

"Good-BYE, Clara!" The receiver was slammed in her ear.

She hung up the phone and looked at it for a moment. So, she hadn't moved on yet. So, what? It had only been a week. Of course, he was over it. He was the one who had ended it! By law, she was entitled to, at the very least, several weeks of bitching, complaining, and crying, coupled with insane amounts of ice cream. Glancing at the clock, she groaned and snuggled back into the covers. Reinette wanted her at the office early, again, to proof-read the proposal on the ad campaign for an upcoming film release. At the moment, sleep was way more important than worrying about her rubbish ex-fiancé.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, since I am writing two Doctors, I have named the Eleventh Doctor Matthew Ellef. Matthew for Matt Smith and Ellef because it is a Norwegian name meaning 'eleven!'
> 
> Also, WARNING: I am marking this chapter as dub-con, because it is dubious whether Rose knows or not what she is agreeing to.

Rose knew the drill. It was down to her and the bloke at the end of the bar who had been pounding shots all night. Shots that had come back to him from other girls with a polite, "no, thanks." Now that it was just the two of them, soon he would look at her and think to himself, 'Hey! At least she's breathing,' and he would send her a drink. The universal invitation for "Let's me and you shag."

 _God, if it wasn't for beer goggles, I don’t think I’d ever get laid,_ Rose thought.

As the official ‘cock-blocker’ for Reinette and her friends, she had two jobs when they went out. First and foremost, was to intercept all undesirable and unwanted advances by the mere mortal men who dared approach the trio of goddesses. She would send back drinks, or make idle chitchat with the men deemed ‘icky,’ until they got fed up and walked away. Eventually, the Triumvirate would decide on some escorts for the evening and leave Rose alone.

Her second job was to make the three of them look better by contrast. Her bleached blonde hair perpetually seemed in need of a touch-up and was usually pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her clothing was oversized and layered, adding puff to her slightly rounded figure. She knew she wore too much eye make-up and didn’t care, her mother hadn’t been around for ten years and would have been the only person who could have stopped her. She didn’t really think she was much to look at, her smile was too wide and her jaw too sharp, her glasses hid her light brown eyes, and her smart mouth kept most people at arm’s length.

The bloke at the end of bar rose a bit unsteadily from his seat and, swaying as he went, walked toward a jukebox beaming multi-colored lights into the relative darkness of the room. Rose watched him brace himself with his right hand on the jukebox and nearly press his nose against the selection window. He was like that for a long while; so long, in fact, that she suspected he might fall asleep that way.

"If he starts to dance, I'm going home," Rose said, perhaps to the bartender nearby, but more to the open air.

"I might just follow your example," the bartender said in a rough, Northern accent. He wiped his hands on a tea towel then hung it over his shoulder and leaned on the bar in front of her. "He said to give you another of whatever you were drinking. So..."

"Sure," Rose said, almost absently. "Tea."

"Long Island?"

"Yorkshire."

"You sure? He's buying."

"After all the drinks he's bought tonight, let's save him the cash."

The bartender brought her the drink and she turned to raise her glass to the bloke who’d bought it. She found him still propped up against the jukebox, with his left hand this time, smiling at her. He wasn't painful to look at, in fact, he looked a bit fit in a brown pin-striped suit, blue patterned tie, and battered white chucks. He had chestnut colored hair that stuck up at all angles and sideburns level with the bottom of his ears. From twenty feet away in the dark, she couldn't discern the exact color of his eyes, but she could see the lust in his half-lidded gaze a mile away. At the unspoken suggestion, a giggle escaped her; until the music stopped her cold.

A motorcycle engine revving preceded a driving drumbeat and a guitar joined in a moment later. Judging by the bloke's face, this was not his selection. This was made even more clear when David Lee Roth screamed out, "Oh, yeah!" and the bloke toppled backwards, falling to the floor. The rest of _Hot For Teacher_ played on. Rose laughed and made her way over to the fellow.

"Hi there," she said, offering a hand down to him. "Need help?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he said, grabbing her hand and standing up. "My name's Theta."

"Ouch." She winced. "Did your parents hate you?"

"Well, I prefer to be called the Doctor."

"Doctor what?"

"Just the Doctor."

She lifted an eyebrow. "That supposed to sound impressive?"

"Sort of, yeah." He looked almost hurt that she didn’t seem impressed.

"Okay, then, Doctor." She smiled wryly. "It’s better than ‘Theta.’"

"Yeah. So, your friends ditched you, eh?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, they left with some other blokes. No, you can't have their numbers, and no, I won't bring your number to them." She turned to gather her purse and coat. If this wanker wasn't going to at least put forth the effort to pretend to be interested, she wasn't going to stick around. However, before she could get more than two feet away, he grabbed her hand.

"Oi, don't go. Look, I'm sorry. I just thought it was pretty rubbish of them to leave you behind."

"Sure, you do."

"If I brought--"

"Please, don't say, 'If I brought you, I wouldn't leave you behind.' It makes you a liar and me a charity case. If I'm going to talk to you, I'd like to do it without the cheap clichés. No offense." She watched his reaction to her gentle chiding. At first, it seemed like he might get angry, stomp off, and sober up. But he made no move to let go of her hand. Instead, he smiled and she felt something inside her do a little flip.

"Okay," he said, as he laughed. "No cheap clichés. Do you wanna get a cup of coffee somewhere, or something?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he groaned. "That was a cliché, wasn't it?"

"I'll let that one slide. You already bought me a drink," she said as she motioned to the tea. The bartender was in the process of clearing it away and Rose made no motion to stop him from doing so. She watched as a warm smile spread across the Doctor's face and found she couldn't look away. A gathering heat spread in her chest, quickening her pulse as that heat began to pool in lower regions of her body. Despite her jaded defenses, she blushed.

As the current song ended, he turned back to the jukebox, slipped in another coin and punched two more buttons, all without letting go of her wrist. Rose knew the song instantly; it was commonly referred to as _I Want to Fuck You Like an Animal,_ although the actual title was _Closer._ An appropriate sub-title, as the beat mimicked the act. If there had been any doubts in her mind as to the Doctor's intentions, there were none now.

His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, quickly gaining her attention.

"Dance?" he asked.

"To this?"

"Yeah."

"Not as a habit."

"Come on..."

"Why? Are we at a wedding?"

With one tug, he pulled her closer. Now she could see the color of his eyes, dark chocolate brown, but they were so far dilated that they looked nearly all black. His gaze was incredibly intense, she couldn’t remember ever having a bloke look at her that way before, as if she were the only other person on Earth. She felt a bit self-conscious, as if he could see everything there was to her with that look. He traced the contour of her face with the backs of his fingers, trailing them down her jaw and neck, making her shiver.

 _"Dance with me."_ A direct command.

Something turned her brain to mush. "...Okay."

He needed no further prompting. In one motion, he released her wrist and slid his arm around her waist; with his other hand, he tilted her hips to fit against his. Then he began to move.

Though Rose had said that she would leave if he started to dance, she was forced to silently retract that statement. While the Doctor wasn't a polished or accomplished dancer, he had one hell of a way of conveying what he wanted to do to her, were they anywhere private. As the song continued, she began to doubt whether the lack of privacy would deter him for much longer, considering the liberties he took with hand placement.

He tilted his head down, dragged his lips slowly back and forth across the place where her shoulder met her neck, then inhaled deeply. Rose's hand reflexively clenched in the fabric of the Doctor's jacket.

"At the risk of sounding... you know... Why don't we get out of here?" His breath was heavy and warm on the back of her neck, tangy with the bite of tequila; intoxicating, in its own right. Something about this bloke was primal, animalistic, and kind of sexy. Well, a _lot_ sexy.

 _Don't forget, he just wants you for tonight,_ said the constant voice of reality. _Odds are you'll be home in half an hour._

"I'll get my coat," she nearly whispered, strangely out of breath, as she pulled away far enough to look him right in the eyes. Her heart began to race, not totally from excitement. Something about the Doctor made her feel like a rabbit trapped by a wolf.

"No, no. Let me get it,” he said. “Which one is it?"

"The puffy red one with the hood." The statement sent an odd chill up her spine.

* * *

It was decided that Rose would drive them to his place; he was too drunk. _Right,_ she thought, _it's so I can leave faster._

"You know, I just thought of something," he said as he shifted in his seat to face her. "I never asked your name."

"Do you really want to know?" she said with an acrid tone. She wished this part didn't have to happen. Talking made things personal, and later on, when he asked her to leave, it would make things painful.

"What kind of question is that?" He seemed hurt, as if she was assuming things that weren't true. "Of course I want to know your name."

"Rose."

"Nice to meet you, Rose."

"Yeah." She flipped on the windscreen wipers against the growing rain. There was a long pause before she spoke again. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm being sort of a bitch. I'm just really tired of being the default girl."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Oh, come on. If any one of my friends had given you a second glance tonight, do you think you'd have asked me to your place?" She could feel the tirade beginning to start, but really didn't care enough to stop it. "I know I'm not the most attractive of girls out there, but do you men ever stop to think that perhaps, just maybe, the girls you take home after you've had one or six too many might know the score? I mean, people might think I’m a chav, but I'm not stupid. So, you'd rather chew off your arm than find me in your bed in the morning. Great, because I would rather be eaten alive by rabid wolves than have to suffer the humiliation of having to face you when you've sobered up, and I'm no longer interesting. So, Doctor or Theta or whatever the fuck you want to call yourself, I'm going to make this really easy for you, okay? If you still want me, you don't have to feel obligated to talk to me. I can just pull over, and we can get it over with in the back seat. If not, I'll just drop you off at home and you can sleep your beer goggles off." She pulled the car over and put it in park before turning to look at him. "What's it going to be?"

There was a long pause. The rain outside got heavier, and steam rose from the storm drains and sewer vents giving the world outside the car the look of a fifties horror film. Street lights cast an eerie glow, mixing the shadows of the night rather than banishing them. The Doctor fit into this sort of atmosphere. Darkness played across his face making the sharper features of his nose and chin softer, hidden, in a way. His black eyes bored into her, making it harder to keep her resolve.

Suddenly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and, more gracefully than it should have been, leaned into her, pinning her against the driver side door. Lips close enough to brush hers. The carnal smell of him filled her senses. Waves of heat crashed over her body. He didn't move from this position, but stayed as if he had just cornered his prey and was going to play with it for a while.

"Sounds like you might have one or two small issues," he whispered, almost growled. She couldn't move or look away. "Why don't we go to my flat, and try to work some of them out?"

_Run! Run! Kick him in the balls, push him out of the car, and run!_

"Rose."

_Run!_

"Rose, just say yes. Nod and say yes."

_Rose! Run! Just…_

"Say yes, and nod your head."

She felt it then. His tongue darted out for just a moment, to rasp along her bottom lip, tasting her. She inhaled sharply and again, his scent filled her. No matter how much her brain put up a fight, her body answered him, overruling any obstinate, controlled, angry remarks.

"Yes," she said simply, and nodded.

* * *

She dreamed of her grandmother, or rather her grandmother's house; a warm, three-bedroom house up North that always seemed to smell of pumpkin pie and fresh baked bread. No neighbors for about a mile in any direction, and no distractions to confuse the mind; a place where you could just be. There was a path that led from the trees on the outskirts of her grandmother's property to the house itself. Rose dreamed herself on the path just inside those woods, heading to her Grandmother's. Three beautiful, but evil trees pulled at her clothes with their skeletal branches and threw her off the path and into a bar. Or was it a barn? Everyone inside was half human and half animal. There was the Doctor, fangs dripping with saliva or blood; she couldn't tell which from twenty feet away in the darkness. She recognized his eyes, however; or rather, the way he stared at her.

"Where are you going, little girl?" His gruff voice seemed to echo in the room. She wanted to answer, "I'm going to my gran's house," but her voice froze in her throat.

She wasn't sure what woke her. She was laying beside him on her stomach in his king sized bed, under a blue and black bedspread. The room was large, white, and sparse. A huge black television, currently playing an episode of _South Park_ on mute dominated the wall at the foot of the bed. To the right was one of those personal gym things that looked like it saw more use as clothes rack than a fitness machine. It sat next to a set of French doors with black curtains, partially drawn. With the rain outside, she couldn't see out of the window panels, just black glass set in white frames, going nowhere, revealing nothing.

He was already awake and watching her. From his relaxed posture on his side, she had no idea exactly how long he had been doing so. He was looking at her with the same half-lidded gaze, but without the alcohol to cloud his eyes now. The intensity sent a shiver tripping along her spine.

"Hello, beautiful," he said. The growl was in his voice. He brushed her back with his large, long fingered hand. It felt soft, warm... possessive.

She chose to ignore his statement for the moment and closed her eyes, hoping she would just fall back asleep, that reality wouldn't have to intrude for just five more minutes. Her eyes snapped open as she felt his hot, slightly raspy tongue stroke a path from the nape of her sensitive neck to her ear and she gasped.

He chuckled softly. "Are you going to sleep forever?" he whispered against her skin.

She sat up, pulling the bedspread around her protectively, eyes searching for her wayward clothing. "No... I should get going, anyway."

He moved too fast for her to react. In a moment, he had her pinned on her back, his hands held her wrists captive on either side of her head, and then slid upward to twine their fingers together.

"Oh, no, you don't," he said, his mouth at her neck.

She involuntarily closed her eyes at the sensation. Her senses seemed somehow magnified. "Doctor," she managed to say. "I really should leave..."

"You can't leave. Not now."

"Doctor, don't do this. You don't have to."

He pulled away from her just enough so she could look him in the eyes. They again looked more black than brown. "No, Rose. I had to."

Somehow, it didn't sound as though they were talking about the same thing, but she went on, trying to maintain her thought process under his continued physical assault.

"You need to get up early for work, don't you?" _Just take the out so I can leave with dignity,_ she thought.

"No." There was barely a pause in his action.

"Or you have company coming for breakfast. You'll call me some time; we could have lunch and get to know each other better."

"We'll get to know each other now." He loomed over her, lips dragging across her face as he spoke. "Because you aren't leaving. Not now, not ever. You are mine."

He reached down and, with his teeth, pulled away the bed spread covering her body just a bit. He ran his tongue along the swell of her breast and there was a slight stinging sensation as he did so. Rose tilted her head and saw what at first looked like a teenager's love bite, but at a second glance looked more like an _actual_ bite, like the Doctor had bitten her.

He smiled wolfishly when she looked back up at him. "Mine," he said again.

* * *

As Matt settled himself into the chair, he caught the hairdresser staring at him in the mirror; the cloth he had been about to drape him in was forgotten in his hand. It was a look he had been receiving somewhat more often, now that he had gotten the award; the 'oh-my-fucking-God-aren't-you-Matthew-Grayson-Ellef’ look. He smiled his 'go-ahead-I-know-you-want-to-ask' smile as the fruity-looking man with the spiky platinum hair opened his mouth.

"Aren't you--?"

"Yes, I am."

Matt smiled as the man went into a short appraisal of his work on the big screen and stage. For the sake of the people he met, he let them talk about his celebrity as though he wasn't already aware of it. He didn't like to cut their opinions short, and sometimes he was rewarded by a refreshing new view of his work. Nothing really new from this man, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He would eventually remember he was there for a haircut, and Matt wasn't in a huge rush.

"So, then, if you don't mind my asking," the stylist said as he rinsed Matt's dark blond hair in the sink. "How are things with your girlfriend? Or is she your fiancée now?"

He rolled his big green eyes that the photographers all loved, thinking of the dark skinned, dark eyed woman with long braids that he’d probably never see again outside of a professional nature. "Wait until Friday; it'll be all over the tabs."

"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good. Who broke up with whom?"

"She with me. By text."

"That bitch!"

"I guess she had her reasons. Never been broken up with by text before. I guess I’m the new K-Fed. It kind of sucks. But, well, that's Melinda for you."

He paused in the act of finding his shears. "Um... You mean, Melody, don't you?"

"Right, right... Melody." He glanced at the hairdresser in the mirror. "Don't read too much into that. I can't remember a name to save my life."

"Oh... Yeah, I think I heard that rumor about you a while back. So, it's true?"

"Yeah, but the part about the director belting me in the face is a lie. I still have no idea what that man's name is..."

He set to work with the shears. "Well, you and Melody had a good run. Wasn't it almost six months that you were together?"

Matt sighed. "Yeah. That's practically forever in terms of most Hollywood relationships. Although..."

The trimming paused. "Although?"

"No, it's nothing."

"Come on, what?"

"Well..." He glanced at the man again, but figured what the hell. The only person better to talk things over with than a hairdresser was a gay hairdresser. "Maria--"

“Melody.” The snipping began again.

"Right, Melody, she was the third girl to break up with me this year. All of them were poised, beautiful, and charming. But there was nothing there, no chemistry between us. According to the red tops, Harmony--"

“Melody.”

“Melody, right, that's what I said. To them, she and I were practically engaged. But in reality, we were little more than mates."

“Mates that shag, right?"

"Well, yeah, don't get me wrong..."

The stylist laughed, it was a pleasant sound.

"Anyway, I'm kind of getting tired of all the... the..." He searched for the right word for a moment. "You know, all the fake."

"Fake? They were actresses. It's all they are. You're an actor, you know that."

"Right. But sometimes I want something permanent. Really permanent, not just Hollywood permanent. Something real."

"That's a tall order, Mr. Ellef."

"Tell me about it."

"Speaking of Hollywood, why are you all the way out here and not there? On location?"

He smiled. "Actually, I'm here for a premiere. It was filmed here, so it's premiering here. We've even hooked up with an advertising company that's based in the city."

"Really?" The man smiled broadly as he took out a hair dryer and a brush. His teeth were very even and white. "Could you get me tickets to the show as my tip?"

He grimaced. "I think I'd rather pay you to stay away. This movie is very not good. In fact, I think it’s a long walk and a twenty pound cab ride from good. And I should know, I'm in it."

"It can't be that bad. What's it about?"

"It's an action/comedy/adventure/romance called _For So the Night Will More Than Pay the Hopeless Longings of the Day._ I'm a retired Interpol agent with a gambling problem and a weakness for poetry working as a barrister in London, my wife and children are kidnapped by some blokes, I have to go after them, my family gets killed, I blame myself, some hot bird shows up, she says she can help me find the blokes, we shag each other, things gets blown up, throw in a car chase, blah, blah, blah..."

"Why would you make a movie that's that bad?"

He shrugged. "Money. My agent contracted me into it."

"Well, you might find something out here that will make up for your shite movie and even worse love life."

"What?"

He removed the drape and flourished with the handheld mirror. "A fabulous haircut, of course."

Matt checked out his hair from a few different angles and grinned, running his hand through the soft strands and admiring the way it moved. "Wow, you did a great job! Love the floppy bit in the front. No wonder you came so highly recommended."

He smiled confidently. "I take great pride in my work."

Matt rose from the chair and paid the man, tipping him generously. "If you're ever interested in hair and makeup for film..."

"Thanks," he said, shaking his head. "But I've got a side business that keeps me pretty busy as well as the salon work. I appreciate the offer, though. I'm flattered!"

"Sure. Well, thanks, Jed."

He tapped his name badge. "Jake."

"Right, Jake."

* * *

The day at work was sheer, unadulterated Hell for Clara. It had been only two and a half days since the whole Jane incident when Christina revealed she had spent the night with Adam, taking great pleasure in describing to Lynda and Reinette, in exquisite detail, her goings on with him the previous night. All while Clara was in earshot and unable to get away, of course. If Christina had been poking fun at him, as Clara hoped she might since Adam was a bit below her normal quarry, it wouldn't have been so bad. In fact, that might have been somewhat painless. But instead, Christina described delicious things Clara herself had asked him for during their relationship, but he'd never been game.

 _How could he?_ she thought. _Or did he only tell her to say it to get back at me? She'd do it. Christina would do anything to make me cry. Or did they really...? Maybe it was me... Was it because I just never interested him that much? What the hell is wrong with me?_

The second she could get away, she ran to the supply closet for privacy and began dialing Rose's mobile number, as all the withheld tears began to fall.

_Hi. This is Rose..._

“Damn it!” Clara cried. "Why are you not home?"

 _Obviously, I'm not available right now. So leave a message and I'll get back to you._ Beeeeeeeeeeep.

"Rose," she began, lip quivering. "Something happened... with Adam..." A sob broke her speech momentarily. "I need to talk to you. Where are you? I need ice cream... and cheesy chips... Please call me back as soon as possible!"

She rang off, instantly dialing Amy's office number and praying her other friend would pick up.

"This is Amy Pond."

"Amyyyyyyy!" she wailed.

"Oh, God... What happened?"

The whole story came out, amidst lots of sobbing, along with the fact that she couldn't get a hold of Rose. "I don't know where she is and I need to go out and lose myself in a huge bowl of sugar! And for that, I need you and Rose."

"Thanks."

"It's nothing against you, Amy. But I need Rose to tell me what a bastard Adam is and... well... it's not the same when it comes from you."

"I know. Rose and I have different styles of comfort. Well, it sounds like she was with the Bitches last. Maybe we should ask them."

"I'm NOT asking them," said Clara. "If I go out there and ask, they'll just try to get me to cry again or do something for them. Or both."

Amy groaned. "I guess I'll call them. I'll ring you back, okay?"

"Okay."

Ten tissues later, Clara's mobile rang. "H-hello?" she ventured, hiccupping loudly.

"God, you sound pathetic."

"Ta, very much."

"Reinette and Lynda have no clue where Rose is. They went out to a bar two nights ago and haven't seen or heard from Rose since." She audibly shuddered. "Ugh... I never want to call those two again. I don't know how Rose and Lynda can possibly be related or how you put up with those three women on a daily basis. When are you going to come to your senses and work for me?"

"You can't afford me. The company doesn't give you the budget for an assistant."

"Valid point. Well, I tried calling Rose just to be sure and she didn't pick up then either. Not her mobile or her home line."

"I'm worried, Amy."

"Well, then at least you've gotten your mind off of Adam."

Clara's wailing renewed. "That fucking basta- _hiccup_ -d, I'm going to fucking- _hiccup_ -kill him! And I'll take that- _hiccup_ -Christina and shove a f- _hiccup_ -ing ice pick through her fuck- _hiccup_ -g eyes!" While her hiccups had cut off some of what she said, she had no doubt that the message had gotten through to Amy. She blew her nose, foghorn-like, into a new tissue and sobbed. "This fucking- _hiccup_ -sucks!"

"Look, why don't we go out? I've got two tickets to that movie premiere you've been working your arse off for. Why don't we go?"

"I can't. Reinette will be there. If she sees me, I'm dead. I'm not supposed to have fun, I'm suppose to be her beast of burden."

"Fuck Reinette. You need to get out."

"She wants me at work early tomorrow morning to go over some things. If she sees me out tonight, having a good time, she'll only work that much harder to make me miserable the next day."

"Clara, sitting at home with a box of tissues and thirty cartons of Ben and Jerry's is not going to work this time, I can tell. You're just going to brood over everything, getting more and more miserable, and end up somehow blaming everything on yourself the way you always do. That's not what you need right now. You need distraction."

"I need Rose!"

"Fine!" said Amy, her comforting tone of voice gone. "You want Rose? _I'll_ be Rose for you!"

"Amy, wha--"

"You are I are going out tonight, whether you fucking like it or not! Because you know who else used to lock himself in his room? Howard Hughes, Clara, and look where he is. Three hundred antibiotic shots in his fucking heel, one of them breaks off, and he still dies of infection! And if you think I'm dragging your pus-filled ninety-eight pound carcass out of your over-sanitized flat after you shoot your television, you're sadly mistaken! I'm not wearing tissue boxes on my feet, they don't make for stylish footwear! So, get the hell up, change out of your hospital gown, because it shows way too much of your non-existent arse, wash your hands forty-eight thousand times, and put on your fucking bio-hazard suit, because we're going _out._ And if you're not ready by the time I get there, I'll kick your sorry arse, you creepy recluse!" _Click._

Clara stared at her mobile in shock, wondering how she could shoot her television if she had died from an infection. She left the closet to go back to her desk, still not feeling like going out, but willing to go through with it since she didn’t want to get beat. She didn't doubt for a second that Amy would do it. Amy enraged was a sight to behold, Clara just preferred not to be on the receiving end of it.

* * *

Rose woke, sitting bolt upright in her own bed, in her own flat, alone. And naked.

 _How did I get here? Did I dream the whole thing?_ Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she winced as dull pain throbbed lightly between her legs and other sensitive areas. _Ow... Guess not. That still doesn't explain..._

She threw on her pink bathrobe and glanced at her bedside clock. It was 11am. _Shit! I'm late for work!_ The blinking of her answering machine, however, slowed her mad dash to the shower. Eight new messages? That answering machine got about as much action as she did. Why in hell did she have eight new messages?

She hit the play button. "What the fuck, Rose?" came Reinette’s loud, overly-cultured sounding voice that contradicted her actual words. "Where the hell are you? You were supposed to pick us all up like, an hour ago!"

_Huh?_

"You'd better have a damn good reason when I get a hold of you!" _Click._

Rose had no idea what Reinette meant. Pick them all up? They weren't supposed to be going out again until that night. Did they suddenly get a breakfast date that Rose didn't know about?

The next couple messages were from the other two goddesses, basically bitching at Rose because she made them miss their table at the club since she never came to get them, which also made no sense.

"You morons," mumbled Rose. "We're not supposed to go out to the club until tomorrow."

The next message was from her boss. "Rose, you have a perfect right to take a few sick days if you need to, but we'd appreciate it if you followed the protocol and called your supervisor if you're going to do so. If you're going to be gone for more than a few days, please call us as soon as possible so we can arrange a temp..."

_WHAT?_

While her boss rambled on, Rose ran to her purse and fished her mobile out from the depths. It was dead. When she plugged it into the charger, the date revealed that she'd apparently slept for two whole days!

 _Oh, my God!_ She set the mobile down before heading for the cabinet in the loo to get some painkillers. She could feel an enormous migraine coming on.

The message machine continued in the background, the next one was from her aunt, who tersely told Rose that she shouldn't have to lie to her boss about her being sick, asking why isn't she at home, and have the sense to call in to work herself so her 'emergency contact' wouldn't have to do it. Rose rolled her eyes as she filled up a glass at the sink. She wouldn't even have her aunt as a contact, if her work didn't require at least one family member on the paperwork...

There were then two messages from Clara and Amy; Clara upset about her ex-fiancé and wanting to know where Rose was so they could eat ice cream, Amy upset about having to contact the Triumvirate for her whereabouts and that being a total bust anyway, where the hell was she?

"Hello, beautiful."

The glass of water she had been raising to her lips stopped in its journey and the pills skittered across the linoleum floor. The Doctor's voice continued from the machine's speaker.

"Just calling to see how you're feeling."

She couldn't move. The same paralysis that had held her transfixed in the car grasped her again, and he wasn't even present.

"I'll try you again later. Maybe if you're up for it, we could meet for breakfast." There was a slight pause. "I'd love to see you again."

It was almost as if he purred the words right next to her ear. No, not purred. Purring was too gentle a word. It was...

The phone began to ring, but she didn't even realize until the machine was picking up.

"You'd better bandage that," came the Doctor's voice again.

She stared at the machine. _What the hell?_

"Your hand," he clarified.

She looked down and saw that she had gripped the glass of water so tightly, it had shattered. How had she not noticed that? The linoleum was now covered in water and pieces of glass and a growing pool of blood that oozed steadily from the gash across her palm.

“FUCK!” She picked up the phone with her good hand and cradled it against her shoulder as she grabbed a tea towel to staunch the bleeding. "Where the hell are you?"

"Hello to you, too." He laughed softly. "Look up."

She looked up and out the window over her sink. She saw the Doctor standing across the street on a mobile, leaning carelessly against a lamp post. He lifted a hand in greeting.

"Are you stalking me?" she asked.

"I hardly think two phone calls constitutes stalking. I hadn't heard from you in two days. I was a little worried."

"Don't try and confuse me with logic. How do you know where I live?"

"You have a driver's license with your address on it. I looked at it to take you home the other night, Rose Marion Tyler,” he rolled her name around in his mouth like he was tasting it. Evidently, he’d taken in the rest of the information on the card as well.

She tried not to think about just how much she liked the sound of him saying her name. "You're changing the subject. Why are you here _now?"_

"Breakfast? The message I left..."

"Oh, right."

He began walking across the street towards her. He never looked one way or the other, but somehow, he knew when to stop to let a car go past. As if pulled by an invisible thread, Rose found herself walking toward the window, her feet avoiding the broken glass on their own.

"I know I came on strong two nights ago, Rose, but I couldn't help myself. I want to know you better."

"Yeah, right. If one of my friends had accepted the drinks you sent, you never would have invited me over."

"Rose, I sent those drinks to _you."_

She blinked, momentarily taken aback. It sounded good, and she wanted to believe it. "Okay, sure. You're a persistent one, aren't you?"

He stood before her then, with just the window between them. His chocolate brown eyes never blinked as he looked at her. She couldn't look away. Her heart pounded wildly in her throat. Her arms fell limply to her sides and the tea towel flopped to the wet floor. She didn't notice.

"I saw what I wanted and I had to have it." He lifted his free hand; if not for the pane of glass between them, he would have touched her face. _"Let me in."_

Again, a direct command that fuzzied her brain. She slowly pressed her hand to the window to meet his...

"FUCK!" she yelled again, as red-hot pain lanced through her hand when the glass slivers embedded in her skin were pushed in further. She looked back up at the Doctor, blinking back the tears. "How about you take me to A&E instead of breakfast, Doctor?"

"I’ll have to. Your car is still at my place."

"Shit..."

He chuckled low in his throat again. "What a mouth."

"I'm kind of frustrated and in more than a little pain. I'll say whatever I bloody well please!"

"I wasn't talking about the swearing." He smiled, watching her with that same half-lidded gaze she remembered from the bar.

 _No!_ she thought, firmly. _Do NOT get distracted by the creepy sexy man._ "Shut it and get in here before I bleed to death."

He closed his phone and saluted her, touching two fingers to his brow before walking around to the door. Rose picked up a clean tea towel for her hand and went into the bedroom to change into some clothes before he could come in and offer to ‘help.’ She had a feeling they'd never get to A&E otherwise. They'd have to go pick up her car later, though... Right. She had a distinct feeling she wouldn't be leaving until the next morning if the Doctor had anything to say about it.


	3. Chapter 3

"Will you stop swiveling your head like that?" said Amy as she and Clara took their seats inside the lavish cinema that had been scrubbed and polished for the event. "You look like a demented owl."

Clara ignored her friend's less than flattering observation. "I'm looking for Reinette. They're seating all of the industry people together; she's bound to see me! I should leave..."

Amy grabbed Clara's arm in a vice-like grip when the other woman made like she was going to bolt. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Hughes." Dipping into the goodie bag she'd been given at the door, she pulled out a sweatshirt and baseball cap with the logo of the production company emblazoned across the front of them. "Here. Put these on and she'll never see you. It's not like you stick out like a sore thumb, Clara. You're like all the normal, regular thumbs."

"Where do you get these analogies?"

"It's a gift. Now, sit back, shut it, and we're going to watch this film."

_Forty-five minutes later..._

"We know your husband was harboring information on our group, now tell us where to find the disk!"

"I don't know anything! Alexei will save me from you!"

"Ha! Let's see how talkative you become now..."

"Nooooooo!"

A smash cut to Matthew Grayson Ellef, as Alexei, inside a men's bathroom, cutting the wires of a bomb that was slowly counting down to zero. His head snapped up and he gasped dramatically.

"Nancy! She's in trouble!"

Clara sighed. "This film sucks, Amy."

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"If I had paid for my ticket, I'd be asking for my money back."

"You got a sweatshirt and a hat out of the deal."

"This film sucks so bad, it's going to put Hoover and Dyson out of business."

"Didn't you think Matthew Grayson Ellef is cute? You own his version of _Romeo and Juliet_ on DVD," Amy needlessly reminded her.

Clara shook her head. "You cannot compare this film to _Romeo and Juliet,_ not by any stretch of the imagination. And yeah, he's cute; I met him when he came to Reinette's office."

"Is he that cute in person?"

"No, in person he's hyper-cute. I don’t know how he does it really... I mean, he’s got those deep-set green eyes, and prominent brow and chin. On anyone else, those features would be tragic, but on him... They work. I was a sobbing mess at the time though, and prefer not to relive the memory. And, with apologies to Mr. Ellef, 'cute' is not nearly enough to carry this film."

"You've got me there."

"Shhh!" hissed some bloke behind them.

Amy turned to look at him. "What? It's not like you're missing anything."

The man paused and conceded her point with a shrug. The two women watched Alexei engage in a car chase for about one minute before Clara groaned.

"I'm going to the loo. Don't bother to tell me what happens when I get back."

"Don't worry,” said Amy. “I doubt it'll be anything memorable enough for me to recap."

Even the trip to the upstairs toilet was uneventful. She didn't really have to go; she just wanted a break from the incredible stink-bomb that was the film going on below. As she washed her hands in the sink, a heavy sigh was wrenched from her.

"Maybe I should just call a cab and go home," she muttered to herself. "I've already lost forty-five minutes of my life that I'm never going to get back."

She backed out of the bathroom, held the door open with her bum, took aim, and tried for a three-pointer with her wad of used paper towel.

"Yeah! Nothing but bin!"

She turned to head back to the theater and, of course, as a result of not paying attention to where she was going, bumped right into someone coming out of the opposite facing men's toilet. The bill of the baseball cap crashed directly into the guy's chest and fell off her head.

"Oops, sorry!" she said, bending to pick it up.

"Sorry about that," he said at the same time. Unfortunately, he also bent down to retrieve the hat, and they ended up bonking foreheads.

"Ow!" they cried in concert. Forgetting the hat momentarily, they both straightened back up, each rubbing their sore spot with the heel of one hand.

He recovered first and gave her a smile. "Again, sorry. If I hadn't been watching your shot, I would have moved out of the way." He bent down, picked up her hat, and extended it to her.

Clara's eyes had gone wide. The hat in his hand completely gone from her mind, she pointed at the man she hadn't ever expected to see again after that horrible day at the office. "You're Matthew Grayson Ellef."

He laughed lightly. "Yes, I am."

"Your film sucks."

At that, he laughed loudly and honestly. "Yes, I'm well aware. I'm sorry you've had to sit through this much of it."

"Why are you out here and not in there?"

"It's not obvious? I'm looking for an escape. Isn't that what you're doing?"

Her face reddened a bit. "Well... Yeah."

He checked his watch. "There's still plenty of time." He looked at her. "Want to go get a drink?"

She blinked. Her ears must not be working. "A drink?"

"Yeah. I saw a bar across the street."

With a monumental effort, she contained the hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble up at his suggestion. This sort of thing just did _not_ happen to Clara and she thought briefly he might be putting her on, but he seemed to be in earnest. A thought for Amy flitted through Clara’s mind, but, with a mental apology to her friend, she shrugged. "Why not? After forty-five minutes of that film, I believe I'm owed that much."

He laughed again and settled the baseball cap on his own head, covering his dark blond, somewhat floppy hair. "Is it okay if I borrow this for now?"

"Knock yourself out. I was using it to hide, too."

He gave her a strange look. "Okay... Let's go."

* * *

 _This film is awful._ Amy glanced at her digital watch. The glowing numbers told her that she'd been sitting for a full fifteen minutes waiting for Clara to come back from the loo. _That bitch. She ditched me!_ She sighed and looked back up at the screen, crossing her arms resolutely. _Well, I am going to watch this film if it kills me._

_Fifteen minutes later..._

"This film may very well kill me," she said, not bothering to keep her comments to herself anymore. It's not like anyone was really interested in the film. Well, with one exception...

"Oh, my _God,"_ said Lynda from the other end of the row. "This film is soooo good! I mean, I like it so _much!"_

Amy rolled her eyes, sat back in her seat, and took a long swallow of soda.

Up on the screen, Alexei had just found his family massacred, Batman-style, having shown up just a little too late. He was currently going on a killing spree, trying to get revenge on the corrupt ex-Interpol agents.

"Yeah, and who didn't see that coming?" Amy asked to the open air. "Five quid says he kills some innocent guy and gets the guilt trip that gives him a noble purpose for the rest of the film. Any takers? Anybody?"

Nobody spoke up. She guessed because it was probably too much of a sure thing. "Oh, well. So much for making this film somewhat interesting."

_Another fifteen minutes later..._

"I don't want to replace your family, Alexei," the tawny bombshell in the slowly-being-removed catsuit was saying. "Just give me the chance to help heal your wounds!"

"Yeah, right!" said Amy, slouching low in her seat, unable to find the energy to sit up any longer. "Who talks like that during sex? I mean, really. If it's good and it feels the way it should, then your vernacular should only consist of 'yeah,' 'more,' and 'now.'" She took another sip of soda and found it empty. Suddenly, getting more to drink was _way_ more important than seeing the last fifteen minutes of the film. "I don't need to see the credits. Then I'd know who to kill..."

She hoisted herself out of the seat and made for the lobby.

* * *

When Clara's sweet, frilly pink drink had been set before her, she turned to Matthew and raised her glass. "What should we drink to?"

He pondered for a moment, lifting his own amber colored drink. "Let's drink to the last shred of hope I have that this film won't tank my career."

"Amen." She touched her glass to his. "So, tell me why in God's name you would make this film. You won a BAFTA. You shouldn't need to sell yourself out to crappy films."

"That's the thing," he said, after taking a long sip of his Amaretto Sour. "I made this film before the one that got me the award. This film wasn't going to be released. It was never supposed to even leave the can. But now that I've got some sort of notoriety, the guys behind it think they can make some money off me. The sad part is, they're probably right, and there are going to be a lot of people wondering why they paid eleven pounds to waste two hours of their life."

She shook her head. "Try to be optimistic. It might end up becoming a cult classic. Every actor has horrible films in their closet. Just don't put it on your resume. Maybe they'll forget." She gave him a sympathetic look. "If nothing else, you've got your looks."

He laughed self-consciously. "Heh, sure."

"I have to tell you, it's really hard to sit here and not freak out."

"Why?"

Her face reddened and she took a gulp of liquid courage. "I've seen just about every stage show you've been in. Even the non-equity one you were in illegally."

He laughed again, clearly pleased and very embarrassed if the slight tinge of pink in his cheeks was anything to go by. "Really?"

"Yep. I may look calm on the outside, but on the inside I'm going, 'OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!'" She demonstrated this last in a high pitched squeal, arms flapping like a crowing rooster, before perfectly composing herself once again and presenting him with a blithe smile.

He shook his head, still laughing. "Well, thank you. I hadn't realized it was so exciting to be in my presence."

She tilted her head at him, incredulous. "You honestly have no idea how attractive you are, do you?"

"Careful. Your fan-girl is showing."

She made a show of looking for it, glancing all around and checking under her barstool. She grinned at him when he shook his head at her again. The whole thing seemed so unreal, her sitting there in sweats and trainers, him in his designer jeans, v-necked white t-shirt, and black sport coat. "So, why isn't your girlfriend here tonight?” she asked, as casually as possible. “Or did you ditch her in the theater?"

He groaned lightly and rolled his eyes, taking another long drink. "She's not here. She informed me recently that she's going to be unavoidably detained for the next fifty or sixty years."

"Ouch. Was it the name thing?"

"Name thing?"

"It's fairly common knowledge that you can't remember anyone's name. Which is why, I'm guessing, you haven't asked me for mine." It was already plain to her that he didn't remember meeting her at Reinette's office, or he would have said something. She was fine with that and didn't remind him. She had no desire to be known as 'the crying secretary.'

"Oh... Right." He looked mildly embarrassed again, with the air of someone who knows he's done something wrong, but couldn't help it. "That might have been part of it, but we were never especially close to begin with. No real chemistry, besides our physical relationship."

"I sympathize. In fact, I empathize." She extended her left hand and showed him the tan line her missing engagement ring had left behind.

"Were you broken up with by text, too?"

She winced. "Ow... No, he did it in person. But it _was_ five days before the wedding."

"Ding, ding! We have a winner!" he said in a deep, cheesy announcer's voice as he raised his hand toward the man behind the bar. "Bartender, another round!" He turned back to her, his brow furrowing sympathetically. "So, what was the reason? Do you have a 'name thing,' too?"

She laughed lightly, but decided against telling him the 'we-ness' story. "No. Actually, Adam used to treat me really decently, which was why I agreed to marry him. But he was... different, after we got engaged. Still, I thought things would be better after we got married. Now, I'll never get to find out. I guess it's for the best, though." For some reason, talking about her ex wasn’t as difficult as it had been, the pain no longer sharp, but more of a dull ache. She suspected it had something to do with whom she was talking with. Matthew was surprisingly easy to open up to.

He looked at her very seriously, putting one hand over hers where it rested on the bar, sending little shocks of electricity up her arm. "Let me tell you something. I know that most women believe in the strange and magical restorative powers of marriage, but in complete and utter honesty, we blokes don't change when we get married. We only get worse. Don't ever marry someone thinking things will change for the better, all right? Because more often than not, you will be very disappointed. And you're way too good of a person to end up stuck with a wanker like that fellow sounds to be."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Ellef, you've known me for less than an hour."

"My first impressions are usually correct. And you can call me Matt."

Something thrilled inside her, and her cheeks warmed with pleasure. She thanked the bartender as their second round was brought to them. Raising her glass, she said, "Well, here's to the Lonely Hearts Club and its two newest members."

"Cheers," he said, touching his glass to hers. His green eyes brightened. "We should get tattoos!"

She looked scandalized. "On this body?" she said, indicating her own.

"What's wrong with it?"

She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Let me put it to you this way. A friend of mine got a little kitten tattooed on her bum back when we were in school together. And then, over the years, it became this big _tiger."_

He pondered that for a moment, and then snickered. "That would actually be kind of cool."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You know, the more I talk to you, the more I realize you're really just a normal, regular bloke. It’s so strange..."

“Why?”

“Well, you’re a film star and I’m just... me. Sitting here with you, I should be completely tongue-tied and giggling way too much. Instead, we’re having a pretty great conversation. Like normal people.” She smiled. “I like it. Getting to know the person behind the star.”

He tilted his head at her, lifting a brow. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," she said, grinning, and took another sip of her drink. "My name's Clara, by the way."

He made a face. "Ah, bollocks! Now you've told me, I'll never remember."

"You really can't remember a name to save your life, can you?"

He placed one hand to his heart. "If I was standing on the edge of a cliff and my last girlfriend had a gun pointed at my chest and she told me to speak her name, I would be a dead man. It took me the first seven years of my life to learn my own mother's name."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Mummy."

"You have _got_ to be faking this."

He held both hands in the air. "I swear on my mother's name, whatever it is, that I'm not. Look..." He squinted at the ceiling, twisting his mouth to one side. "My last girlfriend's name was... Marjorie."

"No."

"Bollocks." He squinted at the ceiling again. "Marian?"

"Strike two."

"Bollocks!" His brow furrowed. "It does begin with an 'M,' right?"

"No wonder she broke up with you."

"I think it had more to do with the fact that her chauffeur looked like Vin Deisel."

"You can remember Vin Deisel's name and not your own mother's?"

"I've never _met_ Vin Deisel. But rest assured that if I ever _do,_ I will instantly forget what his name is."

Clara's brow creased in a frown. "I don't get it. How can you memorize the entire script for _Romeo and Juliet_ in three days, and yet be this way? Mercutio, Benvolio, Tybalt, they all fell ‘trippingly on the tongue,’ didn't they?"

“You’re quoting _Hamlet.”_ He smiled with some self-derision. "I can remember fake names without any problem at all. It's a person's real name that will fly in one ear and out the other."

She shook her head. "Were you dropped on your head as a child?"

"I've suspected, but it's never been proven. I've also looked into the possibility of having lived near power lines or if I might have eaten lead paint chips."

She laughed, part of her amazed at how easily they bantered back and forth. Clara was enjoying herself so much by then, that she almost forgot whom she was with, the man next to her no longer a being of unattainable adoration... He was just Matt. Time slid away as they continued to talk and when he happened to glance at his watch, he started visibly.

"Oh... The film will be ending in just a few minutes," he said, bringing them both down to reality. He looked at her apologetically, which surprised her. "I'm sorry. I have to go. They'll all be expecting me at the after party to get my arse kissed." His face lit with sudden inspiration. "Will you be going?"

She almost said yes instantly, but then remembered herself. "Ah... I can't. My boss will be there and if she sees me, it's my arse on a platter. I'm not really supposed to be here."

"Oh, so that's who you were hiding from." Evidently reminded, he took off the baseball cap and handed it back to her, running a hand through his hair and instantly getting rid of any ‘hat head.’ "Well, if you change your mind and think you could manage to sneak in, please come." The look he gave her then was heart-stoppingly grateful. "This is actually the first time I've really laughed in about a month."

"I'll... think about it," she said, not really wanting to say no.

"All right. I'll give the doorman your name."

Doubtfully, she raised an eyebrow at him.

He nodded. "Yeah, I don't think that will work either." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Give this to whoever's at the door. That should get you in."

The slip of paper he had handed her looked a lot like the ticket Amy had given her earlier to get into the film, only this one was bright yellow rather than white, and had 'VIP' stamped across it. She realized this ticket must have been meant for Melody... had she not broken up with him.

He shook her hand warmly. "In case I don't see you... Thank you for rescuing me. This was a lot more fun than sitting through that film."

"Likewise," she said. "Though I think almost anything would have been more fun."

"Not at all," he assured her. "At the moment, I'd much rather be here, getting soundly pissed with you, than go to a party where everyone will tell me how great that horrid film was." His smile became somewhat thoughtful. "You're different, you know? You're..." Whatever he might have said seemed to escape him as he glanced once more at his watch. "You're going to make me really late. Once again, a pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine," she said under her breath as he took his leave.

* * *

At the concession counter in the lobby was Reinette's other assistant, Rory Williams, and Amy paused a few feet away to enjoy the view. He was bent over, giving something on the counter his utmost attention, which afforded her quite a candid look at his arse. She sighed, contentedly. _I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him leave..._ In fact, Rory was the reason Amy ever came by Reinette’s side of the building at all, though she claimed it was to ‘visit’ with Clara. A glimpse of that bum of his could give her happy thoughts all day.

Locking that away in the 'pretty file,' she came closer and saw a calculator, an exacto-knife, and a box of Whoppers which he was reading like a book, all spread out before him.

Not wanting to break his concentration, or maybe just to freak him out, she tiptoed up to him and whispered close to his ear, "What are you doing?"

He started slightly. "Amy!" he exclaimed, further betraying his shaken composure by using her first name. "Oh, I mean... Ms. Pond."

She shoved him in the shoulder. "I've told you before, you don't have to call me that. Now, what the hell are you doing with an exacto-knife and a calculator in the middle of a cinema lobby?"

He sighed, looking back at the box. "I'm trying to figure out if one serving of Whoppers has one hundred and twenty-three calories, and there are forty-six Whoppers to a box, and three servings per container, how many times do I have to cut one in half before Reinette can eat them?"

Amy shook her head. "I can't believe she has you out here, calculating Whoppers. It's not like you're missing anything inside, but still..." Her expression softened a bit. "You know, if you worked for me, I'd never make you do this. Know why? Because I'd eat the whole box." She reached out and grabbed one of the Whoppers, popping it in her mouth before he could stop her.

"No!" he said. "My calculations!"

She laughed lightly. "I helped you. Give her fifteen."

He punched the numbers in the calculator, and a relieved smile broke out across his face. "Thank you," he said.

"No problem." She gave the concessionist her cup for a refill of Coke, then looked back at Rory who was still standing there. "Don't you need to go give those to her?" she asked.

He only looked moderately guilty. "I'm... taking a break."

"When you work for her, I can understand." She took her Coke back, thanked the teenager, and turned back to Rory. Suddenly, looking up into his clear blue eyes, she could think of nothing more to say. "So..."

"So... How are things?"

"Good. Good. Film’s crap, but I'm good."

"Great. Yeah. And business?"

"It's good, it's pretty good." There was a pause as Amy took a gulp of her soda, glancing around for something to comment on. Finding nothing, she said, "Um... How are things with you?"

"Good! They're good. Reinette's a bitch, but you know... It's a living."

"Yeah, uh-huh." Pause. "Uh... Business?"

"Good."

"Good."

Amy tapped her foot nervously. She waited a few seconds, then blurted, "Is it just me or does this conversation suck?"

Rory breathed a huge sigh of relief that he'd apparently been holding for a while. "I thought it was just me..."

"No, it usually takes two to make a terrible conversation." Though, this was typically the case whenever she spent more than five minutes with Rory Williams; all her smart comments just went right out of her head. After that, she was hard pressed to think of anything beyond how great his arse looked in those trousers. He didn't seem to fare much better, if their current conversation was an indication.

However, before they could get any further, the doors of the theater opened. The film was over. Amy sighed and shrugged at Rory.

"Back to the grindstone."

He nodded, somewhat unhappily. "Well..."

"Well?"

"N-nothing," he said, shaking his head.

As Amy watched, and as people were beginning to come out of the theater, Matthew Grayson Ellef walked into the cinema through the front doors. She huffed. "Not even _he_ could stand that awful coma-inducing film." Unable to resist, she lined up with a bunch of others to meet him. If nothing else, this was how she could get back at Clara for ditching her.

Nearby, Reinette came out of the theater and sauntered directly up to Rory. Amy shook her head as the poor man practically cowered before the woman. Reinette's piercing tone carried effortlessly, so Amy heard everything she said.

"Forget that," she said, waving a hand at the perfectly separated Whoppers. "Get me a diet soda."

Reinette turned away and Rory, with an expression of extreme annoyance, bowed mockingly behind her back. When the blonde unexpectedly turned back around, he pretended to be tying his shoelace. "My soda, Williams!"

"Yes, Reinette." He went back to the concession counter.

Meanwhile, Amy turned back around to end up face to face with the film's star.

"Hello," he said with an adorable smile. "I'm Matt Ellef."

Amy took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ellef. Amy Pond, Gallifrey Advertising. We did your promotions."

His expression lightened to one of acknowledgment. "Ah, Gallifrey! What did you think of the film?"

With a wide smile, Amy cheerfully said, "Well, I think it was rather like someone with dysentery crapped in a bucket, then splashed it in Jackson Pollock-like fashion all over the film screen."

Matt blinked and his eyes went wide, his mouth falling open slightly. "Wow," he said, finally. "Your view is... new, different, and... rather disturbing."

"Ta!" She pumped his hand a few more times. "Good luck at the after-party!"

He nodded, too stunned to do much else. "Thanks... Annie."

As she walked past the concessions again, she noticed Rory crumpled on top of the counter, moaning and shaking his head back and forth. "No... No..." was all he seemed to be getting out.

She went to him again and patted his back. "What's wrong, Rory?" she asked, concerned.

He looked up at her, sandy hair falling over his forehead, his blue eyes utterly dismayed. "They're out of diet soda, Amy. Out. It's _gone._ Do you know what that means? Reinette's going to kill me!"

"It's not your fault they're out of diet."

"Do you think that'll stop her?" he asked.

"Probably not."

"Williams!" bellowed Reinette from the other end of the lobby. "Where's my soda?"

Rory actually flinched. Amy looked from him to Reinette and back again. She looked at the half-drunk soda in her hand and inspiration struck. And if it worked, she'd get something in return. "If I get you out of this soda mess, you have to take me to lunch."

His eyes widened slightly, but then he shook his head. "Reinette will still--"

"Oh, no, she won't," said Amy. "I'll make sure of it. Deal?"

He shrugged and took her hand. "Deal."

She grinned at him, then marched right over to where Reinette was standing. She took a long drink of the soda, and smiled sweetly at the woman. "Mmmm... You know, Reinette, this diet soda is _really_ something."

Reinette's icy blue eyes slid over to Amy. "What?"

"Yeah. I usually drink the leaded stuff, but I see you drinking this all the time and I thought to myself, 'you know, I admire Reinette soooo much, I should try drinking her soda.'"

"You what?" asked Reinette, suspiciously.

"Well, you're such a great ad agent, and I figured, the more diet soda I drink, the more like you I'll become."

"Why are you telling me this, Pond?" she asked, annoyed.

"I'm saying that I probably should have stopped after the sixth or even the seventh Diet Coke, since by then, it was mostly carbonated water, hardly any syrup at all, but I wanted _so much_ to be like you, Reinette, I figured I'd just drink them dry!" She tossed back the remainder of the soda, making a show of licking her lips. "Mmm! Now, that's some _good_ soda!"

Amy had to resist giggling with glee as she watched Reinette just become angrier and angrier before her very eyes. She trembled with fury, her hands balled into fists, and her full red lips had curled back slightly into a tiny snarl.

Rory took that moment to approach cautiously and say in a quiet voice, "Um, Reinette... They're all out of diet soda."

"Oh, that's too _bad!"_ said Amy with false sympathy. "Well, I'm sure there's plenty of _regular_ soda left... That is, if you want to sink to _my_ level."

And just as Amy expected, Reinette ignored Rory completely and focused all of her rage on the woman before her. "You bitch! You did it on purpose! You've always wanted everything that's mine!"

Rory glanced around them, beginning to look nervous again. "Reinette... Maybe you should lower your voice..."

"Shut it, Williams!" she said, not even bothering to look at him. "You've always been jealous of me, Pond! Because I'm better than you!"

"Sure, Reinette," said Amy, perfectly calm in the face of the storm. "You're _such_ a better agent than me. Is that because you proof-read your own copy and type up your own proposals? Oh, no, you have Rory and Clara do that."

"I'm more successful!" Reinette said, practically spitting out nails. "You'll never get where I am!"

"Ms. Poisson," said someone behind Reinette. "You should calm yourself!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" she yelled, but her focus was still on Amy.

"If I recall," said Amy. "We're at about the same level."

"Not for long!" Reinette sneered. "I'll get the promotion because everyone on top likes me! And then you'll be answering to _me,_ Pond!"

"Now, do they like you because of what you do for the company, or because of your _extracurricular_ activities?"

"Shut it! Just shut it!"

"Ms. Poisson!" exclaimed a new voice from behind her.

"Will you shut it, you idiot!" Reinette finally turned to see who it was that was ordering her around, and to soundly tell them off, and found two of the executives of the company standing behind her, stern expressions on their faces.

"Ms. Poisson," said one. "You have made a scene."

"Ah... Ah..." Reinette mouthed helplessly like a beached fish.

"We expect better from our employees," said the other. "Especially from you, Ms. Poisson!"

Both of them glared at her, and then walked out of the theater without another word. Reinette stared after them, still apparently at a loss for what to say. Amy patted her on the back consolingly.

"Well, in the immortal words of Stewie Griffin: I'd love to stay and chat, but you're a total bitch." And with that, she walked off, tossing the empty soda cup into a bin. She threw a look over her shoulder at Rory, who was moving a safe distance away from Reinette. "Lunch," she said, happily, blowing him a kiss. "Call me!"

Since she no longer had a companion for the after-party as Clara had probably long ago called a cab and gone home, Amy walked to the parking lot and climbed inside her car. She wasn't really dressed for an after-party, anyway, and that film in no way merited wrestling herself into stockings.

* * *

Clara sat at the bar for a moment and looked at the yellow card in her hand. An absurd urge to sing _I've Got A Golden Ticket_ from the old “Willy Wonka” film suddenly popped into her head, but she resolutely shook that away.

 _This is not the time, Clara,_ she thought. _Besides, you can't go. Reinette will be there._ Her hand tightened on her glass. _Christina will probably be there. Adam might be there. And you do NOT want to see him while wearing a baseball cap and sweatshirt from Kastarborous Pictures, Inc. You had a nice time with Mr. Ellef, just leave it at that. You can't go._

"You know, you really ought to go," said a slightly familiar voice as someone slid onto Matthew's vacant barstool.

She turned to see who it was and her eyes nearly bugged straight out of their sockets. "J-Jane? What are _you_ doing here?"

She raised a rum and Coke delicately in her manicured hand. "What does it look like?" She wagged a finger at Clara. "You never called me, by the way. We were supposed to have coffee."

"Oh. Sorry."

She waved that away. "Don't even think about it. We'll have our drink now. So, tell me. Why didn't you take that delicious man up on his offer? He invited you, you should go. It's only polite."

Clara sighed, resting one elbow on the bar. "My tyrant of a boss is going to be there, most likely along with Adam and his current shag. So, I'd get into trouble as well as be horribly embarrassed."

"I'm not sure I follow, entirely. What would be embarrassing about going to a premiere’s after-party on the arm of the guest of honor?"

"Well, it's not like Mr. Ellef invited me as his date..."

"It looks like he gave you his date's ticket."

Clara shoved the yellow paper into her pocket. "He might say hi to me, but that'd be it, trust me. He'll have a ton of gorgeous women around him the whole night. Besides, if, by some miracle, I _was_ on his arm, wouldn't it be a little obvious to my boss that I'm there?"

Jane smiled, revealing her perfectly even, pearly white teeth. "Darling, if she thinks you might be there, she'll be poking her nose into every dark shadow she finds. The trick is to be right out in the open, shining so brightly that you blind her." She winked. "And, judging from Adam's behavior on the night you saw us, you might guess that I have some experience in this field."

Clara giggled. "I suppose so." Her face fell a moment later. "It doesn't matter, though. I don't shine. I'm not dressed for an after-party. I don't think I even own anything that would be remotely appropriate."

"Let me guess. Your boss lets you wear sweats to work." At Clara's nod, Jane shook her head, disappointedly. "What if I told you that it could be taken care of?"

"What? Are you going to wave a magic wand and suddenly fix my appearance?"

She gave Clara a small, feline smile. "Come with me."

* * *

"She did it on purpose!"

Rory closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth, as Reinette continued to go on about the soda incident. The others in the limo, Christina and Adam, and Lynda and the hapless model wanna-be she'd suckered into coming with her, were hanging on her every word. All Rory wanted was to get to the after-party as soon as possible. Once there, Reinette would have to put on her 'nice face.'

"She deliberately baited me, knowing I'd lose my temper, and in front of the executives!" Her fists were clenched so tightly, Rory was sure her nails were going to cut through her skin at any moment. "I swear, one of these days, that porridge wog bitch is going to get what's coming to her!"

 _Here it comes,_ he thought, dreading this moment.

Reinette turned to him, pointing one long, perfectly painted nail directly in his face. _"You_ will find out tomorrow, the _second_ you get into the office, where we stand with the executives. You do your little suck-up routine and find out who's first in line for the promotion!"

"I've already done my 'little suck-up routine' every day this week," said Rory. "They're going to catch on sometime!"

"What the _hell_ do I pay you for?" she asked him, but he knew she wasn't expecting an answer. "I pay you to be my informant! What I need to know, you get for me! I don't care what you have to do, if you have to suck somebody's dick, I suggest you get yourself some knee pads and change your name to Mr. Hoover!"

Lynda, in typical fashion, tilted her head, a look of confusion spreading across her features. "But... his name's already Williams..."

Reinette turned her glare to the other blonde. "You are only allowed mono-syllables for the rest of the night, Lynda. Phrases are to consist of no more than six words."

Her eyes widened, her bright pink lips parting in indignation. "But that's not fair!" She paused, counted on her fingers, and made a face when she realized she'd just automatically done as Reinette commanded. "Damn it." She pouted for a moment before the confused look returned. "What are the knee pads for?" She counted again and struck her fist on the seat next to her. "Damn it!"

Christina rolled her eyes. "You should know, Lynda."

Adam leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the seat behind his date. "Why don't you just get Clara to do it?" he asked.

Christina made a face like she'd just walked into the grand ballroom and smelled cabbage cooking. When she turned to look at him, however, that expression melted to one of saccharine sweetness. "Adam," she said, placing a French manicured fingertip to his lips. "Shh... The girls are talking." She looked back at Reinette and rolled her eyes. "Well, Reinette... What _are_ you going to do about Pond?"

"I don't know yet," answered Reinette, and it was clear from her face that it was an answer she did not like giving. "But I'll think of something." She sat back in her seat, her fists finally coming unclenched. "By the way, all of you find your own way home. I'll be taking the limo."

Rory resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As usual, the paragon of grace and virtue was thinking of everyone but herself.

Christina grinned. "Who will you be going home with?"

Reinette tossed her carefully styled locks. "Without a doubt, the film's star."

"Matthew Ellef?" asked Lynda, excitedly.

"No, the _other_ star," she replied, nastily. "And those _weren't_ mono-syllables." Lynda lapsed into silence as Reinette turned her attention back to Christina. "He was on the rise before, and now that he's got the BAFTA under his belt, he's skyrocketing. I plan to grab on, ride him for all he's worth, then ditch him before he hits rock bottom. He might end up being knighted. Then I'd have a retirement plan!"

"I thought you already had a retirement plan."

"Mono-syllables, Lynda! Do you even _know_ what that means?" She huffed in annoyance, then looked back at Rory. "Williams, I'll only need you for when we get in. After that, make yourself invisible. Understand?"

Rory sighed. "Yes, Reinette."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is NSFW.

The ride to Jane's beauty salon was surprisingly short. Clara barely had time to tell her what size jeans she wore before Jane whisked away to a different room and returned almost instantly with an armful of clothing. Clara was pushed into a large bathroom and told to get changed. She was certain the clothes wouldn't fit, Jane couldn't possibly have had something all ready to go like that for her, but when she put them on, the cut was remarkable; like they had been tailored for her.

The dark blue skinny jeans actually fit her, a feat in and of itself. Clara usually bought her jeans a size too big to save herself the trouble of breaking them in. The silk and lace blouse was of a red jewel tone and it flattered her figure by cinching in her waist and draping across her chest, outlining her cleavage to its fullest advantage, but the effect was more tantalizing than explicit. Jane had even provided new underwear for her, a matching set in the same red as the shirt, with the bra pushing her breasts up to where they were supposed to be and knickers tiny enough to barely deserve the title.

Finally, she picked up the most expensive-looking pair of shoes she'd ever been given to wear; strappy rhinestone heels. Sure enough, the label was a very exclusive designer's who only distributed through one factory. She thought they might look ridiculous paired with the outfit, but a look in the full-length mirror told her differently. All together it looked, for lack of a better word, stunning.

There was a sharp knock at the door, startling her out of her reverie. "Are you done in there? We still have your hair to attend to!"

Since any sort of chemical process Jane might have attempted would take hours, she merely brought out a wig and a hairpiece in a lovely light chocolate color, highlighted with a few lighter shades and a bit of auburn thrown in to catch the light. Everything that Jane did to her was very quick and efficient. Clara thought briefly that the job on her hair and makeup would probably look rushed, but as the chair she was sitting in spun around to face the mirror, her jaw fell slack.

"Is that _me?"_ Since the reflection also said the same thing, she followed this with, "Oh, my God, wow! I've _never_ looked this good!" She turned her head in a few directions and watched as the wig artfully followed the movements. Her brown eyes were huge and luminous, her lips looked full and utterly kissable. "I'm... I'm _hot!"_

"You say that like you didn't think so before."

"Well, it's not like I'm the best looking girl out there. I'm not elegant or anything, like you." Her face reddened, feeling embarrassed for having voiced such an opinion.

Jane smiled, though, looking quite pleased with the compliment. "Thank you. But you have an elegance all your own, Clara. It's different for me, obviously. Unlike you, I can't just go around without makeup or my hair done. My elegance is, in a very big way, manufactured. You're a natural." She glanced at the wig and smirked. “Well, usually.”

Clara felt a spark of regret growing within her chest. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"You're being so nice to me. I feel bad... for kind of using you to get back at Adam."

Jane shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I knew he was a pillock when I agreed to have dinner with him."

"If you knew, then why did you do it?"

"Sweetheart," she said with a grin. "Think about who you’re talking to. I have my reasons for what I do, even if few understand them." She glanced at the clock. "Now, you need to get out of here. Be back by midnight."

"Midnight? Why?"

"You have to get up for work, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, midnight is the magic hour, darling. Leave before that and you're being rude. Leave after that and you've overstayed your welcome. Midnight is perfect. Besides," she added, pointing at the rhinestone heels. "Those are 'one hour shoes.' A couple of hours in those and you will be dying to get home and take them off."

Clara shrugged. "Okay." She turned to go. As she opened the door, a taxi pulled up in front of her. She looked back at Jane who smiled.

"I called a cab while you were changing." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Go, go."

She smiled. "Thanks!"

Safely inside the yellow cab, Clara waved at Jane as she sped off into the night.

* * *

"There's a woman coming to the party," Matt was saying to the burly doorman at the front of the restaurant. "I want you to look for her, because she's not on the list. I invited her as my guest this evening."

"Yes, Mr. Ellef, sir," said the man. He poised a pen over his clipboard. "Tell me her name and I'll add it."

 _Shite._ Matt winced; this was what he had feared. "Uh... It started with a 'C,' I'm pretty sure. It was... Carrie. No... Carly. No... Kelly--"

"Kelly starts with a 'K,' sir."

"Bollocks! Well, it was a 'kuh' sound." Becoming more embarrassed by the second, he struggled on. "Um, she's small-ish..." He remembered the bill of her baseball cap had crashed into his chest, but since he was pretty tall, he wasn't sure if that was considered small for a woman, or not. "She was wearing a shirt of some kind... With dark-ish hair...?" He ended his lame description in a question, hoping the details would prove helpful.

The man's eyebrows drew together as though he were trying to concentrate on a particularly difficult problem. "So... You'd like me to be on the lookout for a woman of slightly below average height, wearing a shirt, with hair of some sort?"

He sighed. This was not helping. The woman that'd gone to the bar with him, while he had considered her pretty attractive, was admittedly fairly average to most others. It was something about her eyes that really set her apart, they had been full of so much laughter. "Look, she's got a VIP ticket. Just let her in, will you?"

"Of course, sir." The man looked incredibly relieved.

As he walked into the crowded restaurant the film company had rented for the evening, Matt smiled broadly at those who gathered around him for the benefit of the photographers, but had a distinctly dismal feeling that the one person who'd made him actually smile for the first time in a long while wouldn't show.

* * *

Clara arrived about an hour into the after-party and things looked to be getting into full-swing, if the music spilling out into the street was any indication. The cabbie brought the car to a halt directly in front of the doors and just smiled at her when she attempted to pay him.

"No charge," he said. "Jane is a friend. I help her sometimes with her little pet projects."

Not sure how to respond to that, she thanked him and got out of the car. As he drove off, she took a look at the red velvet ropes and the line of people outside, which stretched all the way down the street. She didn't see Amy and figured the industry people must have gotten in already.

 _Well, at least I don't have to wait,_ she thought as she reached into the little red satin reticule Jane had given her. However, before she could find her ticket, the doorman unhooked the rope draped across the sidewalk in front of her.

"Welcome to the party, miss," he said.

She blinked in surprise, but entered the building just the same. Before the doors closed behind her, she heard someone near the front of the line comment, "Figures. Just because she's somebody, she gets in without waiting..."

Not sure what she should be surprised about more, the fact that someone thought she was 'somebody,' or that the doorman had called her 'miss' rather than the ever-present 'ma'am,' she decided to forget both and made her way to the coat check. A smile spread across her features. _I guess it's true,_ she thought. _Clothes make the woman. I guess I do kind of feel like I 'belong'... Whatever that means._

She handed over the long black leather coat and the woman handed her a claim ticket and a tag that read 'Hello, My Name Is' along with a marker. Clara raised an eyebrow. "Is this really necessary?" she asked, feeling decidedly grade school.

The woman shrugged, rolling her eyes. "They said it's for the benefit of the film's star. Apparently, he can't be bothered to remember anyone's name."

 _That's pretty assuming,_ thought Clara, even though she probably had thought the same thing a few times after hearing the rumor. But after talking with Mr. Ellef, she knew she'd never think it again. She wrote 'C-L-A-R-A' on the nametag, then paused and stuffed it in the reticule. "Can I have a new tag? I messed this one up."

The woman handed her a fresh tag and on this one, Clara wrote simply 'Miss C.' _No need to advertise that I'm here,_ she thought. She stuck the tag on her chest, praying that Jane would forgive her for ruining the ensemble, and entered the large dining room.

The place was packed. Most of the tables in the "pit" area of the restaurant had been removed to allow for a spacious dance floor and a DJ at one end had a set up that boasted flashing multi-colored lights and a disco ball. Around this was a slightly elevated area with extensive seating for those who wanted to sit down away from the dancing. Servers milled about, carrying flutes of champagne and mixed drinks from the bar, and bringing empty glasses back.

She didn't see Reinette or Amy... but she saw him. Sitting at one of the larger tables near the other end of the restaurant, surrounded by beautiful, dolled up women in tight dresses, as she predicted he would be, and several powerful-looking men in designer suits. Their eyes were focused on him, but his attention was elsewhere. Every so often, his head would swivel around, and he'd crane his neck to see over the crowd as though looking for something.

 _He's watching for me,_ came the sudden unbidden thought, which she hastily shook away. That couldn't possibly be it. _There's no way!_ But even as she thought it, his eyes settled on her and didn't stray.

She resisted the urge to look behind her to make sure it wasn't someone else he was looking at. She smiled at him as if to say 'Well, I'm here,' and he rose from his seat, quickly excused himself from the group he'd been sitting with, and began to make his way over to her.

 _I don't believe it,_ she thought, her heart beginning to pound as her excitement mounted. _He really did want me to come tonight! Me! Plain, old Clara Oswald!_

Before she could give it another thought, he stood before her, smiling and taking her hand. In this atmosphere, he looked even more delicious than he had at the bar. She was about to apologize for being so late when he said, "I don't think we've been introduced... I'm Matt Ellef."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. _He doesn't recognize me!_ she thought, outraged. _I left him like, an hour ago, and he doesn't recognize me! What the hell!_

"How do you do," she replied, taking her hand from him. "If you'll pardon me, I'm looking for someone." And leaving him open-mouthed behind her, she fumed off in the direction of the bar.

 _Of all the stupid ideas. Why did I come here, risking my neck, just because he's hyper-cute and kind of a nice guy. I let a near stranger treat me like her own personal Barbie doll and then he doesn't even have the decency to recognize who I am!_ Halfway to the bar, she slowed. Involuntarily, she sniggered. It was actually pretty funny. _Well, I guess I can't really blame him. I do look pretty different, and we only spent about an hour together. I shouldn't expect him to--_

Her thought process was interrupted as a cosmopolitan rimmed in pink sugar was presented before her. When her eyes followed the arm extending it to her, she found herself looking at Henry van Statten, one of the many junior executives at Gallifrey. She recognized him because she'd had to say Reinette was in a meeting several times, as a cover, while he and her tyrannical boss were really shagging on her desk.

"Hello, there," he said to her, and it was only too plain that he hadn't the foggiest idea who she was. If he had, he would never have spoken to her. "Care for a drink?"

It was hard not to laugh, because the look he was giving her was aiming for suggestive, but on him it just looked smarmy. While Normal Clara would have gotten flustered and politely searched for a way to decline and back away slowly, ‘Miss C’ gave him a condescending look, raised an eyebrow as if to say 'you're way out of your league,' and walked off, throwing a casual "Excuse me" over her shoulder.

With her outside perfectly composed, inside she was giggling madly and turning cartwheels as she continued walking toward the bar. _I just totally snubbed one of the junior execs! And it felt GREAT!_

Clara’s moment of victory was cut short however, as someone roughly bumped into her shoulder and she turned to see none other than the blonde-haired beast herself. Reinette threw a venomous look right at Clara, freezing her in place, and she knew she was caught.

"Watch where you're going!" Reinette snapped, and she swiveled around to continue walking toward the ladies.’

It took Clara a few seconds to register what had just happened. _Not even Reinette recognizes me! Oh. My. God!_ She looked around, having no trouble finding the esteemed guest of honor whom she'd previously deserted. _I wonder how far I could take this..._ With a smile, she turned around and walked back across the restaurant to where Matt was just taking a glass of champagne from a passing server.

His expression was gratifyingly startled when she reappeared at his elbow.

"The person I was looking for didn't show. I'll talk to you," she said, conversationally.

He stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You sure run hot and cold, don't you?"

"What can I say?" she said, giving him a flirtatious look from beneath her eyelashes. "Some like it hot and... Well, I'm sure you know the rest." She smiled.

"I'm pretty sure I do," he said, returning her smile. "Well, once again, I'm Matt Ellef. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She extended her hand to him, palm down. "Miss C."

After a momentary hesitation, he seemed to catch on and took the tips of her fingers in hand, bending over her knuckles slightly, though falling short of kissing them. His half-smile indicated, however, that he was enjoying the playfulness. "Missy?"

"No. Miss C," she repeated, enunciating the words. "It's not my real name, so you should be able to remember it, right?"

"How did you know that?"

"It's fairly common knowledge, Mr. Ellef." She indicated the people around them. "I would guess that's why everyone here is wearing a name tag."

"Oh. Right." He fidgeted awkwardly with his champagne flute.

 _This is incredible,_ thought Clara. _I'm charming and witty! As myself, all I can ever manage is sarcastic. I wonder how long it'll take him to catch on that it's me..._

"So," she said, noticing that he glanced over her shoulder momentarily. "Shall I tell you how brilliant I thought the film was, and how spectacular you were in it, or shall I tell you the truth?”

He laughed shortly and tossed back the champagne. "I'm well aware that the film is rubbish. It's nice to see someone else knows it, too." He gestured around them. "All these people... Falling over themselves to lie right to my face... Pretty sad, isn't it?"

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the slightly glazed eyes. Mentally, she calculated. He'd had two drinks with her at the bar, she guessed at least one more while she was being transformed, he'd just drank a glass of champagne like it was water, and chances were he'd probably had at least one drink on the way to the premiere. He was fit, with a little muscle mass that would slow down the alcohol, but he was still quite slender, so if he kept this pace up, he'd be on the floor before the night was over.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, bluntly.

He set the flute down on the tray of a passing server. "Not enough."

She leaned in to whisper, "Is it because of the film?"

"What was your first clue?" He gestured toward the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Can I get _you_ a drink? I think you might need it more than I."

"We could get each other a drink," he said, sounding as though it was the most brilliant thing ever.

She noticed for the second time that he was looking over her shoulder. She reached up and tilted his face back to her by cupping his chin. "I'm down here, sweetheart. Are you with me, or are you waiting for someone else?"

"Sorry," he said, looking down at the floor for a moment in embarrassment. "I invited someone, but it looks like she's not going to show."

Clara was taken aback. _He_ was _waiting for me,_ she thought. She decided then not to carry out the charade any longer. "Maybe she will," she said. "Matt--"

Someone else bumped into her from behind then, setting her off-balance in the tall rhinestone shoes. Luckily, Matt caught her by the elbow before she could fall. "Oops," said a voice that was only too familiar to Clara. She didn't want to, but there seemed to be a gravitational pull that made her turn and look at Adam, who was dancing, if you could call the grinding movement that, with Christina.

However, Matt chose then to say, "Why don't we sit down? This isn't the best place to have a conversation."

Taking a deep breath, she managed to regain her composure and nodded. She led the way to the bar and ordered them two Amaretto Sours. "It's a pretty girly drink," she said, privately teasing him. "But I think you're man enough to even things out."

"...Thanks?"

"No problem." They took their drinks to an empty table and sat down.

* * *

Reinette fumed from one side of the bar, her eyes locked on her quarry and the slag currently compromising it. Matt and the nobody had been talking steadily for almost thirty minutes. She had been so sure he'd have lost interest in her by now, and that would have been her cue to step in and commandeer him for the rest of the night. But now, Reinette had been alone for nearly an hour and it was beginning to look gauche. She had to make her move, and soon, even if she had to drag him away from the brunette.

A drink was set in front of her and her gaze flashed to the man who'd done it. She was in no mood for some lame pick-up line, however, her nasty remark softened on her tongue when she got a look at him. He was about her height in the six inch heels she wore, not massively built, but he seemed to exude a deceptive strength, platinum blond hair, striking hazel eyes. In a different situation, she might have paid attention to him. She had no time for him at the moment, but a slightly less biting shoot down would do...

He indicated the drink. "Jack. Straight. You've got the look of a woman who can handle it, and like you might need it."

She raised one delicately shaped brow and one corner of her mouth lifted slightly. This was a man who recognized a powerful woman and if she wasn't mistaken, by the cut of his dark suit, his imposing body language, and direct tone of voice, she saw the same power coiled within him. In one motion, she took the shot and expertly tossed it back. Ordinarily, she might have rejected it, but he was actually right. She did need good, stiff drink right about then.

"Thanks," she said.

"You want to tell me what's got you so uptight, or should I take a guess?"

The assessing look he gave her almost made her laugh. She had a pretty good idea what he thought was making her 'uptight.' "It's nothing like what you're thinking, dirty boy." She tossed her hair, her eyes sliding over to where Matt and the brunette were still talking. "I've been humiliated in front of important people by someone I just want to kill, and now the person I came here to be with has been snatched by someone else."

"And you want to kill them, too?"

The question was posed fairly lightly, but something in his tone made her suspect that he wouldn't laugh if she said yes. "The jury is still out on that one. Why?"

He produced a card and handed it to her. "Here. You might find this useful." He leaned close to her, smiling when she didn't draw back. "A beautiful woman may sometimes find herself in need of a guy like me."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you want it to mean?"

She smiled. "I'll remember that." She glanced at his nametag. "Harry."

* * *

"So, you were saying something about how sad it is that all these people think you're God at the moment? I couldn't agree more. I can't stand it when people are kissing my arse," Clara said to Matt, dryly.

"Tell me about it," he said. "I just had mine waxed."

She stared at him. "Okay, first, EW. And second, owww! Why would you do that to yourself?"

He laughed. "I'm only kidding. I don't really like pain and I'm not that hairy. Thank God."

"You don't like pain? But you do your own stunts."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah. And this is my real hair."

"What, is it a wig?"

"No."

"Is it a piece? Because if it is, it's a really good one--"

"No! I mean the color!"

"Well, obviously!" she said. "Do you think this is _my_ real hair?"

"What, is it a wig?" he asked, sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, yes!"

"Oh..." He blinked at her a few times, then took a sip of his drink, looking thoughtful. "That's... strange."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just seem... different."

"Thanks?"

"I mean different from all these people," he said, gesturing with his glass at everyone else. "You weren't afraid to tell me my film doth suck o'rly much."

Clara sniggered.

"When I said it was sad," he continued. "I meant that it's sad all these people are so fake. They don't mean what they say, they just want a chance to grab at some glory, find favor with someone just little higher up. Later on, when the numbers come in, they can all claim they knew that it was going to fail and how terrible they thought it was. In fact, more and more recently, I find myself just wishing for something real."

"Are you kidding me?" asked Clara. "Reality is harsh. Why do you think people involve themselves in Hollywood romances so much? Because it's the fairy tale. There's comfort in what is fake. People want to believe in something. When Brad and Jen broke up, my friend called and you'd think it had happened to her! When everything is fake, there's no skinned knees, no heartbreak. It's all perfect. Isn't that what everyone wants?"

"Let me tell you," said Matt. "I have been swimming in fake for a while now, and there is plenty of heartbreak. It might look perfect on the outside, but that's only because there are about twenty people working behind the scenes to make sure it looks perfect. You want to know why I looked so good with my last three girlfriends? Because my agent picked them out specifically to compliment my skin tone and style of dress. I'm really tired of having relationships that are only perfect on the surface."

"Actual perfection can't be obtained, that's why people believe in the fake. It's as close as they can get to perfect."

"I disagree. I think that people are so hung up on searching for what they _think_ is perfect, they don't see that they already have it. I want to be able to _not_ be perfect for someone... and have them think that I am anyway."

"Ah... You want the _real_ fairy tale." Clara smiled, wistfully. "I used to believe in it, too."

"Used to?"

"Let's just say I've been hit in the face with reality a little too hard and I've been somewhat scarred. If I took off this mask of fake, everything that's making me look the way I am right now, you wouldn't even recognize me." She paused, seeing another opportunity to tell him the truth. "Or maybe you would... Matt--"

"Mr. Ellef," a smooth voice cut in.

Clara inwardly groaned. Her boss _would_ have to butt in at the most inconvenient time. She turned to see not only Reinette, but Christina and Adam in tow as well. She had a momentary surge of victory when Adam's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as he gaped at her. She was confident that he didn't recognize her either when he took her hand and leaned over it.

"Enchanté," he said, butchering the French accent.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp before he could lay a kiss across her knuckles. "It's a hand, not a bone, dog-boy. No slobbering." It was particularly satisfying to see the stunned expression this cutting remark gave him, as well as Christina elbowing him in the stomach.

"You're missing out on your own party, Mr. Ellef," Reinette said, seemingly ignoring the exchange. Her cool blue eyes slid to Clara, her smile sweet but her gaze shooting a vicious warning. "It's not nice to commandeer _all_ of the guest of honor's time."

"Is that right?" said Clara. She finished the last of her drink and stood. "Be back later, then."

"Going to the ladies' to powder your nose?" said Christina, sweetly.

Clara looked over her shoulder at the two barracudas. "No. I just can't stand the company." She looked at Matt, who had also stood. "Mr. Ellef, if you'll pardon me..."

She was halfway across the room when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Panic gripped her for a moment, sure that Reinette or Christina had recognized her, but when she turned, it was Matt who had caught up to her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought we were just having a friendly debate... Did I say something to offend you?"

She blinked, then smiled, amused. "No, sweetie. It's just that, in addition to the fact that I find the company that is now 'commandeering your time' somewhat distasteful, I have to wee. We girls do go wee, you know. Sometimes we even do it alone. Unless you wanted to come with me, although there may be one or two people who might put up an argument..."

He smiled, seeming to relax at her teasing. "Oh. You will come back, right?"

She patted his face, which seemed to stun him a bit as his mouth dropped slightly open. "Sure. I think I can do that." She turned and left him for the third time that night, stomach turning flip-flops.

In the privacy of the little stall in the ladies' toilet, Clara tapped her feet excitedly on the floor. She couldn't help it; it was exhilarating to know that one of her favorite actors, no... that Matt enjoyed her company. He could have his pick of any beautiful woman in the room, and he wanted _her_ to come back.

When she returned, she found Matt seated at a larger table with Reinette, Christina, and Adam. His eyes went wide when he saw her approaching, telling her without words, _Save me now, please!_ She smiled, not even able to fathom how many times she had thought that very sentiment in the presence of the same people.

She stopped before the table and extended her hand to Matt. "Let's dance," she said, interrupting what Reinette was saying to him about the ad campaign.

As he gratefully took her hand, the blonde's eyes flashed fire at her. "We were in the middle of a conversation."

Clara shrugged. "Too bad." She pulled Matt to his feet and walked with him out to the pit, his hand firmly in hers.

In the midst of the dancing people, Matt leaned down and buried his face against her shoulder for a moment, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "You really don't care who you tick off, do you?" he said, grinning broadly at her when he straightened back up.

She smiled. "I have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing her. She deserves it."

"Did you notice her nametag?" he asked. "She dots the 'i' with a little heart."

"In my experience," said Clara, saying so because she _did_ have personal experience with Reinette, "the cutesier the signature, the bitchier the woman."

He stared at her, then shook his head. "There are rules you women have that I will never understand."

With her arms wrapped around his neck, she pulled him closer. She could smell the liquor on his breath and figured that, were he not leaning on her, it was unlikely that he would be able to stand on his own. His awkward shuffling really couldn’t be considered ‘dancing,’ he was pretty drunk after all, but she gave him points for still trying to keep his composure.

Inside, her entire body was thrumming. There was something extremely heady about pretending to be so confident, dancing in the arms of the man every woman in the room wanted, and being completely anonymous while doing it. She felt like she could get away with... well, anything.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

"Ask away."

She tilted her head up towards his. "Have you ever met anyone where you just wanted to cut out all the small talk and conversation, and just snog them? Just... shove them up against a wall and have your way with them until they cry out for release?"

His feet stumbled a bit and eyes went very large as he stared at her, his mouth falling open. “...What?”

She continued to pull him closer until their lips were scant inches apart, their bodies touching each other from stomach to hip. The heat from his body radiated through their clothes to her and she swiveled her hips against his to the beat of the music. "I'm serious. Someone you wanted to skip all the rubbish with and just go at it. And it wouldn't even matter if you were in public or not."

"Um... I..." he stuttered.

She smiled, pulling away to a slightly more decent distance. "I didn't think so." She glanced at her watch over his shoulder; 11:28pm. She had to leave if she was going to be home by midnight. She sighed, running her hands down the lapels of his sport coat as she began to pull away from him. "Unfortunately, Mr. Ellef, from here you will be on your own. I have to leave."

He followed her retreating steps, almost unconsciously. "Leave? It's still early."

She shrugged. "And that's why I have to leave." She winked at him. "More mysterious that way, don't you think?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Sure." He extended his hand. "Thank you for an hour of good company."

"The pleasure's all mine," she said, taking his hand. His palm was warm, smooth. _You're never going to have another opportunity like this again,_ she thought, suddenly. _Do something daring!_ Acting on impulse, she tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him to her, snogging him soundly on the lips, swirling her tongue past his slack lips to taste the alcohol he’d been drinking. After a moment of initial shock, he relaxed into it, kissing her back for several moments before she pulled back, smiling at his dazed expression.

"Thanks," she said, meaning it with everything she had. A familiar sense of imminent danger niggled her senses and she glanced at the tables to see Reinette storming over. She looked back at Matt. "Gotta go." And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

As she collected her jacket from the coat check, she privately celebrated, unable to stop smiling. _I'm so glad Jane convinced me to come tonight. This has been the most awesome party ever!_

It was a little sad to know that, come morning, she'd be back to taking everyone's crap, but nothing Reinette, Christina, or Lynda could ever do or say would wipe this memory from her mind. For one night, _she_ had been the superior one.

As she was being shown through the front doors, a group of people also walking out jostled her slightly as they were forced to move to one side as another group was coming in. Again, she almost lost her balance, but the person she had bumped into steadied her. She looked up to see a blond man scowling after the people who had just gone inside. Something about him unnerved Clara, because it wasn't just annoyance in that expression, it was... malice? The look didn't quite mix with his appearance, and that only served to make him more unsettling. How did someone who looked so mild also manage to look so threatening?

He looked down at her then with clear hazel eyes, the hard look changing subtly to one of interest. She realized then that while she'd been staring, he'd maintained his hold around her waist. Instantly, she righted herself out of the intimate position, embarrassed for not doing so sooner.

"Sorry," she said.

"Why?" he asked, smiling when she had no answer. "Got the time?"

"That depends," said Clara, still in 'flirt-mode.' "Time for what?" Now, he was the one without an answer. She had the distinct impression it wasn't often that someone one-upped this man. "I guess not," she said and headed off to hail a cab. "Thanks for the help... Harry," she added as she glanced at his name tag.

For five minutes, she tried to hail a taxi. She glanced at her watch as the third one passed right by. She huffed an exasperated breath. _If cabs won't even stop for a gorgeous woman, no wonder I have so many problems in my normal attire._ It was 11:39pm, if she didn't get a cab soon, she wasn't going to make the midnight curfew and she was only too aware that she needed to be awake at five in the morning.

A hand tapped her on the shoulder. "Need a ride?"

For a split-second, she almost expected it to be Matt, but she turned to see Harry standing behind her, a lit cigarette in one hand.

"My mother always told me not to accept rides from strangers," she said with a coquettish smile.

He glanced around. "I don't see your mother here," he said.

"Neither do I."

"That makes it all right then, doesn't it." He didn't make it a question.

She pursed her lips slightly, snapping herself out of ‘flirt-mode.’ "If you take me home, you're not going to be invited in and I'm not interested in playing in the car, either. Still want to drive me?"

If anything, her statement only seemed to interest him more. "Is that right?" He paused and took a long drag off his cigarette, then threw it in the gutter. "Okay. Let's go."

The clock was ticking, so she went with him to his car. As they passed the group he had walked out with, he nodded a curt farewell to an older woman with bleached hair, but Clara was only afforded a quick look at the others as she hurried after him.

She gave Harry the name of her street and they took off in his sleek black car. 'Took off' was a rough term, 'rocketed' was more accurate. Unable to help herself, Clara grabbed the door handle as he sped around corners and chanced yellow lights. Thank God it was late and there weren't as many people out.

"Do you always drive like a maniac?" she couldn't help but ask.

He looked at her quickly, but then laughed quietly. "I'm a bit brassed off," he said. "Someone we were waiting for never showed. I guess it's coming out in my driving." His grip on the steering wheel and gear shift tightened. "He'll have it in when I get a hold of him."

Clara glanced at him and shivered. Something about Harry was rather primal. In the right guy, that could be really sexy, but with him, it was kind of creepy. Again, she couldn't put her finger directly on it, but she was unnerved by him.

"I can walk it from here," she said when he stopped on her street. She had the distinct feeling that he shouldn't drive her up to the flat.

"Are you sure?" he said, eyes narrowing a bit.

"Yeah," she said, opening the door of the car. As she reached for her reticule, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, tightly, but not hurting her. Even so, her eyes gave him a warning. "Oi, I already said--"

"I know," he said, smiling, but the flash of teeth was far from friendly. "I just thought I'd say goodnight."

He turned her hand over and slowly leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. A shiver tripped down Clara's spine... but then his tongue darted out, licking the same place, and the shiver turned to the feeling of ants crawling over her. She pulled her arm back, distinctly creeped out.

"Uh, thanks. For the ride," she clarified as she quickly got out of the car. She waited for him to drive away down the street before she went all the way up to her flat door. For the first time all night, she realized her feet were aching.

"Jane wasn't kidding," she said. "Two hours in one-hour shoes is not fun." She sat on her bed and took them off, discovering the right one had left a half-moon shaped bruise on the outside of her foot. Grimacing, she gently rubbed the area.

Suddenly, taking off her clothes, extricating her hair from the wig, and scrubbing off her makeup seemed like too monumental an effort to make, so she lied down and pulled the duvet over herself. The numbers on her bedside clock changed to 12:00am just as she closed her eyes.

* * *

Amy locked her car with a push of the clicker and turned resolutely toward the restaurant. It was after midnight, but the party was still kicking and the line of people to get in wrapped around the side of the building. She stood near the curb for a moment to fish her industry ticket out of her cavernous purse.

"Amy!"

She looked up to see Rory exiting the restaurant and coming toward her. She smiled. "Hey! What are you doing out here?"

"I'm escaping, what does it look like? Reinette's fit to be tied."

She rolled her eyes. "Is she still upset about the soda thing?"

"Well, yeah, but there's more." He chuckled a bit. "You missed quite a show. Why weren't you here earlier? Have you just now arrived?"

"I feel a little silly," she said, blushing slightly. "The person who came with me ditched in the middle of the film, so I thought I'd just go home. But then, it was so early when I got there, I changed clothes and came back. Long trip just for a costume change, you know?"

He paused, looking over the simple black dress she’d put on. "You had... a date?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you jealous?"

"No!" he denied instantly. "No, no... Of course not. I was just wondering..."

She grinned and leaned in to give him a stage whisper. "I was with Clara. Shhh! Don't tell anyone!"

He was quite visibly relieved. "You got Clara out? Thank God. Anything to help her recover from what that knob did to her."

"She told me that you've been covering for her," she said.

"Oh, well, you know," he said, glancing anywhere but at Amy. "We're colleagues, and she's a friend of yours, I mean, a friend of mine, and so..." His gaze flitted back to her outfit. "You look nice tonight, by the way."

She automatically ran her hands over her skirt. "Yeah? I mean, I wasn’t going to risk putting a run in my stockings for this, it's nothing like what everyone else is wearing..."

"No," he said, seriously. "You look really... really nice."

At that, she definitely blushed, turning red to the tips of her ears. Amy absolutely hated blushing, it made her skin clash with her hair until she looked like she was practically glowing. To distract Rory from it, she said, "So, you were saying I missed something earlier?"

"Yes!" he said. "You might not know, but Reinette's been wanting to get her hooks into Matt Ellef ever since our office landed the promotion gig..."

She nodded. "I got wind of it." She cast devious looks about. "My spies are everywhere."

"You heard it from Clara."

"Yep."

He shrugged. "Well, anyway, she was all set to cast out tonight, except for this gorgeous 'mystery woman' came out of no where and single-handedly swept him out from under Reinette's nose. She didn't stay very long, but he was with her pretty much the whole time and just before she left, she kissed Mr. Ellef right in the middle of the dance floor! I mean, you should have seen that kiss, there was tongue and everything, and I could have sworn I was going to go blind from the camera flashes.”

Amy's brow furrowed slightly. "Was she some kind of crazed fan?"

He shook his head. "Nope. It was very clear that he enjoyed it."

Her eyebrows rose in concert. "Oh, reeeeeeally?"

Rory grinned. "Even though you missed everything, I'm sure you'll be able to read all about it in tomorrow's papers."

"Not the same, since I won't get to see Reinette's face, but good enough." She glanced back at the parking lot. "So, are you going home now? Where's your car?"

He sighed. "I came in Reinette's limo. All passengers are to find their own transportation back to their humble abode."

She rolled her eyes. "That's Reinette for you. Ever the considerate one. What's your plan?"

His cheeks tinged pink for a moment as he leaned in closer to her. "I was... kind of hoping a very dear and beautiful friend of mine could give me a ride."

"Beautiful?" She blinked a few times as she looked up at him. He was standing very close to her... Very close, indeed. But she didn't feel like moving away. In fact, it felt kind of... nice. "And where would this person be?"

"She's right--"

"Williams!"

A heart-wrenching sighed wrested itself from Rory's chest and he hung his head. Amy also recognized the enraged bellow of the Reinette-beast and felt sadly bereft as Rory stepped away from her.

"I have to go," he whispered. "I'll call you about lunch."

Amy nodded and sighed to herself as he walked away to answer the call of the wild. _One of these days, he and Clara will come to their senses and work for me,_ she thought. Since Rory no longer seemed to need a ride, she figured she'd go inside. Might as well have a drink or two. Open bar!

* * *

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Rory knew better than to answer Reinette when her blue eyes were that alive with rage. Her tone might have been hushed, but the venomous hiss was far more threatening than her screeching had been before.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You were going to _kiss_ her!"

"No, I wasn't!" he instantly denied, although he knew that speaking would only make it worse.

"Bollocks! You were going to kiss her in front of God and all my followers!"

"No, I swear, I wasn't!" _Yes, I was. I was leaning in, I had every intention, the moment was there, I had it right in front of me, and YOU ruined it!_ At least, that's what was running through Rory’s head, but if he ever voiced such a thing, he suspected he'd be a pile of ash on the pavement. "We're just, you know... friends, kind of, not really, I mean, I hardly know her!" he added quickly, seeing the fury just grow exponentially.

Reinette leaned closer to him, grabbing a handful of his pressed shirt. "You will pay for this transgression, Williams. You know what that means."

He swallowed. He knew only too well what that meant.

"You are not to leave my side for the remainder of the night. We will be leaving in one hour. Understand?"

Something settled, cold and forbidding, in the pit of his stomach. "Yes, Reinette."

* * *

The Doctor’s bed creaked and groaned as Rose and he moved roughly on top of the tangled sheets. He seemed to know just how to angle himself to make her see stars each time she orgasmed, causing her to go boneless from weariness long before he reached his own climax. He seemed to feed off of the sexual energy somehow, able to go at least three rounds before needing a break or a kip. She wasn’t quite sure how it was possible, but at the moment, she didn’t have breath to ask.

He growled against her neck, nipping at the skin of her jaw, her cheeks, not seeming to care where his lips went, as long as he was touching her, tasting her. He found the corner of her mouth and claimed it with fiery possession, his tongue sweeping masterfully inside. She felt as though there could not be a single place on her body that he did not know, he was so skillful in his touches, his kisses, in the way he completely dominated her in every action. He grabbed her hair to control the kiss and she moaned into his mouth as his fingers were just this side of painful. The sound seemed to spur him on and he slammed into her, grunting with the effort, he pulled back enough to look into her eyes.

She struggled to keep her eyes open as sensation flooded through her, he’d already told her once to keep her gaze fixed on him. Everything in his expression echoed his statement from their first night - “Mine.” As her body sang and wept for him from her darkest places, she could only answer back, as illogical as it was, “Yours.”

The wave of ecstasy swept her under again and she tilted her head back, screaming her pleasure to the ceiling, and she felt his rhythm stutter just before he went utterly rigid, reaching his end with a hoarse shout. His sweat-slick body fell on top of hers, his cock still twitching inside of her. Neither one of them said anything as they each struggled to regain their breath.

At long last, Rose licked her dry lips “All right, Doctor,” she said, her voice rough from so much screaming, “I could really use a break now. Please?”

His lips moved along her shoulder and he purred deep in his throat. “I don’t think so.”

She whimpered as she felt him twitch again, still hard. “I’m not a machine!” She looked at her bandaged right hand. “And I’m injured!”

“You had stitches and painkillers. I’m pretty sure I can get your mind off sleep.” He raised his head and lifted his eyebrows suggestively at her, his smile incredibly smug. “I have the last four times.”

Wearily, Rose moaned as he removed himself from her torturously slowly, her inner muscles clenching in an effort to keep him within. He moved down her body to lavish attention on her with his extremely talented tongue. Inexorably, the coil of desire began to wind itself once again...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter are NSFW and the beginning contains non-con and BDSM.

When the door to Reinette's lavish home closed behind Rory, the turning of the lock sounded particularly ominous that night. He'd seen all of her opulent decorations and furnishings so many times, they were just a blur on the backdrop. His mind was fully consumed by what was to come. He could never be quite sure what mood she would be in, but he had a pretty good idea that there would be no tender, considerate lovemaking tonight. He wasn't even sure if those words existed in Reinette's vernacular.

"Undress," she commanded as soon as the door had locked. She went to the kitchen, fully expecting her order to be followed.

"Um..."

"NOW."

He didn't have much of a choice. She _did_ pay him to do her bidding, in the office and out. And she was already angry. Defiance would not be a good idea. By the time he'd gotten all of his clothes off, she'd returned with a glass of dark cherry-colored liquid.

"Drink it," she said, handing it to him. She watched as he drank it all.

The wine had a strange taste, the way it always did when she brought him to her place. He never said no; he _needed_ a drink to want to shag Reinette. Lately though, he'd been feeling a strong sense of guilt each time it happened. Because he didn't want to shag her; he wanted Amy.

"Can I... use the toilet?"

Her eyes narrowed, as though this was an extreme inconvenience, but she gestured down the hall.

Quickly, he locked himself into the small guest bathroom. He couldn't understand it, but at the start of every one of these ‘sessions’ with Reinette, a mad desire would well up inside until he was little more than a ravenous beast with only one thought consuming him, and he'd do anything, anything, to relieve it.

_Not this time,_ he thought. _I don't want Reinette. I don't even_ like _Reinette! I mean, sure, she's pretty, but she's a supreme bitch and that usually cancels it out! I'll just sit in here and keep myself from her, and then I can't betray Amy._ He knew that it was rather silly to want to be faithful to a woman who didn't even know about his feelings, but he couldn't help it. Desire was a bitch, but guilt was a horrible thing to endure.

However, while his heart was completely loyal to Amy, his dick had no sense of loyalty. The treacherous organ began leaping to life as images of Reinette suddenly began flitting inexorably through his head.

_No! Why am I thinking about_ her? _Why do I feel like I need to see her so badly?_ He grit his teeth as the need started to become a painful thing for him. A brief idea of taking care of the problem himself entered his thoughts, but the next moment, he was absolutely certain that nothing could satisfy him except for Reinette. He had to have her wrapped around him, had to bury himself in her moist heat, or death was imminent.

He found himself rising from the toilet and opening the door to the bathroom. She was standing in the hallway, waiting for him, wearing only a black lace underwear set with matching garters and her tall high heeled shoes. She glanced down at the state he was in and smiled knowingly.

"On your knees, puppy," she said.

_Yes,_ he thought. _Anything to please Reinette._ He obediently crawled after her as she led the way upstairs.

He endured about forty-five minutes of the usual torture in total darkness, due to a blindfold; sixty clothespins on various parts of his body, which she then whipped off using her favorite lash, giving him one for each minute that the mystery woman had spent with Matthew and she made him count them. She had him please her with his mouth without using his hands; he was never allowed to touch her, at least not without her express permission. She followed all of that by digging those high heels into his back.

"Do you like that?" she asked, standing on top of him.

"Yes," he grunted, his face to the cold hardwood floor.

"Yes, what?" she prompted, emphasizing the question with another dig of her heel.

"Yes, Reinette," he said. For some reason, she always wanted him to use her name. "May I have some more?" The sooner she tired of this part, the sooner he could find relief within her body.

"Tell me who you want first."

"Reinette."

She jumped slightly with both feet. "Louder!"

"Reinette!" he said, as loud as he could manage it while his lungs were being pressed so hard.

She petted the back of his head with one foot, balancing the rest of her weight on the other. "Very good." She climbed off of him. "On the bed."

He got up as quickly as he could with the blindfold on and found his way by memory to the bed. She pushed him at the last moment so he stumbled, and he groaned loudly as his throbbing erection met with the side of the mattress.

She chuckled deep in her throat. "Be more careful, puppy."

He lay on his back, the only position she allowed him, and she climbed up after him, straddling his chest and pushing her breasts in his face as she secured his wrists in the manacles at the head of the bed. Even when she fucked him, she never allowed him to touch her. That was a privilege, she often said, and he had to earn it. As always, by the time she'd tired of the 'fun,' as she called it, and settled herself onto him, the sensation felt divine. For one moment, it felt like the completion of something. And as always, that was when the guilt came crashing down around him, but he was too far gone to try and stop what was happening.

"Who do you want?" she cried.

"Reinette," he answered her, and the name was bitter in his mouth.

_Go to your happy place,_ he told himself. _It'll be over soon. Think about what you'd rather be doing._

Behind the blackness of the blindfold, Reinette's face became Amy's, and suddenly it was Amy whom he was with. All the scary, violent sex disappeared and he was making love to Amy. In his mind, Amy set him free from the bonds restraining him and soothed his sore flesh with soft lips and gentle touches. _Ah... Amy..._

"Who do you want?" Reinette demanded. "Tell me who you want!"

"...Amy..."

All movement stopped. Rory's heart skipped a beat. _Did I...? No, no, I couldn't have..._

"...Amy?"

_Oh, shit._

"You mean... _Pond?"_ Her nether muscles clamped down on his organ, as if in emphasis of her mounting fury, and where he might have expected a slightly uncomfortable momentary squeeze, he received a painful, vice-like clasp around the tender appendage.

_Holy fucking shit!_

"You have Reinette Poisson in front of you, and you want _Pond?"_

For one moment, he was glad of the blindfold that was keeping him from seeing what was no doubt the fearsome wrath of Reinette, but that small comfort was soon gone as she tore it from his face. The panic snaps on the manacles followed and she jerked herself off of him, leaving him woefully unsatisfied and it clearly showed. With an expression of raw anger that told him this would be a night he wouldn't soon forget, she pointed one imperious finger toward the bedroom door.

"Basement. NOW."

After a split second hesitation, which he knew would cost him in a few moments, he rose from the bed and crawled out of the room.

* * *

_Thank God,_ thought Rose as she looked at the unmoving figure beside her. _The Doctor's finally asleep..._ Rose knew that when he had brought her over to pick up her car, she wouldn't be leaving right away, but the man was an animal when it came to sex! Very carefully and slowly, she eased herself out from under his arm.

_This is not normal,_ she thought as she searched for her clothing. _He should have lost interest by now. He says he's not stalking me, but... I have to talk to somebody about this._ After finding one of her shirts and tugging it over her head, she fished her mobile out of the pocket of her jeans and tiptoed out into the main room.

It wasn't until she'd already dialed Amy's number that she realized it was way after three in the morning. However, Amy didn't even answer her phone. After five rings, Rose hung up. "Of course she wouldn't answer, she sleeps like the dead," she said to herself, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She listened intently, but no sounds came from the next room, so she dialed Clara's number.

The phone rang three times before it picked up. There was a shuffling noise, then Clara's groggy voice. "Somebody better be dead," she said, her words slurring together.

"Clara, shhh!" She couldn't take the chance that Clara talking too loud would wake the Doctor either.

"Shh? Who is this?"

At least she sounded more alert. "It's Rose!" she whispered.

"Rose... Why are we whispering?"

She winced, but told the truth, despite what she knew her friend would think. "Because I'm trying not to wake someone up."

"Oh, Rose," she groaned, predictably.

She could worry about what Clara thought of her promiscuity later. "I have a problem," she said. "I think it's a big problem... but I'm not sure. It may not be a problem at all..." She let out a frustrated sigh, aware that even if Clara weren't half-asleep, she wouldn't be making much sense to her. "I have to talk to you and Amy."

"Are you pregnant?"

"No!"

"Then _why_ did you have to call me this early? Why didn't you call _Amy_ at three-thirty in the morning?"

"I tried. She probably slept right through the phone ringing."

"Well, I'm not going to talk to you about this now."

"Why not?" If she had to, she could pull out the fact that Clara owed her for playing chaperone to the three bitches.

"It's three-thirty in the _fucking_ morning!"

"Shh!" But she had a point.

Clara sighed; Rose could tell she was becoming more awake as she tried to think of a solution that would make everyone happy. "Look, why don't you meet us at Cafe Tardis for lunch tomorrow... Er, today."

"They have lunch there?" Rose had never been to their favorite restaurant for the lunch shift, she was always working.

"This may be news to you, Rose, but life does not start at dinnertime."

"Shut it."

"Oh, wait. You have to work, don't you?"

Rose glanced at her heavily bandaged hand that was beginning to throb again as the painkillers were wearing off. "No. I can't type for at least a week."

"What? Why?"

There was a sound of a body moving around on the bed in the next room, and sheets rustling. Rose muffled the phone with her hand and went very still for a few seconds, but it definitely sounded as though the Doctor was waking up. She uncovered the phone and whispered rapidly, "I have to go. I'll explain later."

She rang off and hid the mobile behind her back as the Doctor opened the bedroom door, leaning his arm against the frame in all his naked glory. Her mouth watered as he smiled sleepily at her. "Hello, beautiful. Why are you out here and not in bed with me?"

"I had to use the toilet," she said. "Problem?"

"Yes," he said, coming over. He wrapped his arms around her and turned his face to her neck for a moment. "You are wearing way too many clothes," he murmured, his lips against her skin. "I'll have to fix that."

There was no way she could argue as he pulled her back into the bedroom.

* * *

Amy overslept that morning. Of course, it was such a common occurrence that it didn't phase her much. But she was most disappointed by the fact that her rude alarm clock had awoken her from her favorite, and thankfully, recurring dream. In it, she could see a gloriously naked Rory Williams, passionately calling out her name as he was strapped, helplessly, to a large bed. She would slowly walk to him, unbind the oppressive shackles, and kiss every raw, red mark. Then, she would rescue him from whomever it was that had imprisoned him this way. But that damned alarm always woke her up just as it was getting really good.

She sleepily shuffled towards her spacious ensuite to take care of 'morning business,' as she called it. Noticing the red light of her answering machine blinking on her way down the hall, she punched the button and wandered into the loo.

"Oh, jeez! Wake up, Amy," Clara's voice chided from the recording. "Things at the office are mad! Reinette is fuming! I'm not sure what you did, but she's absolutely narked and Rory, the boy-toy, looks like he was beat with a bat... the kind with wings and teeth. Plus, Rose called at some ungodly hour this morning and wanted to talk about some problem she has. It's about a guy; big surprise there. I told her we'd meet at the Tardis for lunch. Somehow, she's gotten a work release for a whole week! I didn't ask for details because it was three-thirty in the morning. To re-cap: Get up and get to work; Reinette's a raging she-beast today; Rory's been hit with a small flying mammal; and we're having lunch with Rose. Got all that? Bye!"

Amy sighed. Clara never did know what to say on an answering machine and so always tended to ramble on. Generally, she only realized when it was too late to do anything about it. Amy was used to it, but it drove Rose barmy. She could just hear the other woman saying to the brunette, "Minutes aren't free, Clara!" and she smiled.

Since she hadn't washed her hair the night before, Amy hopped in the shower. Cold water, to make certain she woke up, otherwise she'd stay in the shower for a full fifteen minutes, sleeping while standing up like a parrot. She washed her hair with expensive shampoo, the one really nice luxury she allowed herself, being that she considered her long red hair to be her best feature. Five minutes under the spray and she wrapped herself in a big, fluffy, purple towel, then untangled the mass by running her fingers through it. Amy never blow-dried her hair; when she attempted, it took over the world.

She picked out a pair of trousers and a tunic top, slipped on her shoes, and was ready to head out the door when her home phone rang. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of just letting it ring. _It's probably Clara telling me how late I am. I know how late I am. So I'll answer it to tell her how much later her phone call is making me._ She giggled with glee as she picked it up.

"You're only making me laaaaaater!" trilled Amy with a big grin.

"I'm... sorry?" came an unexpected male voice.

She blinked. "Who is this?"

"Rory Williams? Lunch? Remember?"

"OHHHH!" It all came rushing back to her still-tired brain.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Well... Being that you called my home number, I'm at _home,_ Rory."

"Right, right," he said, sounding embarrassed. "I really meant to ask why you're not at work. I called your office and got an answer phone, same thing with your mobile, and finally I tried this number. So..."

"Right, good thinking. Have you recovered from the bat incident?"

"I... don't think I follow."

"...Nevermind. Lunch, today, yes!" Reality punched the back of her head. "NO! God!" She groaned. "I can't. I'm supposed to meet Rose and Clara for lunch. You could come with us, but we're just going to listen to Rose bitch about some guy she met at a bar. I don't really think that would interest you."

"Hmm. Tempting... but no."

"I might be able to cry off, but..." She thought about the consequences of leaving Clara alone with a bitching Rose. "I probably shouldn't."

"No worries, maybe we could postpone our lunch until later today."

"Two lunches? Well, I'm hungry, but..."

"No, I mean, maybe say... seven tonight?"

"That doesn't sound like lunch. That sounds like dinner."

"Well, I guess that might be considered somewhat dinner-esque..."

She smiled. "Rory, are you asking me out on a date?" Pause. "Again?"

"...Uh... Is that all right?"

"YES!" She silently counted to three to try and calm herself down. "Just as long as it's not a repeat of our last date."

"Oh, no, no! No work, I promise."

"Good. Then why don't you just meet me at my office as soon as you're let out of the cage, and we'll drive down to wherever we're going. Sound good?"

"Yes!" There was a pause, like he might be thinking of something else to say. "I can't wait."

"You're going to have to. Because five o'clock isn't here yet."

"If you don't get to work soon, it'll be five o'clock before you get here."

"Ha, ha. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Amy!"

She carefully replaced the receiver, gazed at it for a moment, then let loose with the Happy Dance of Joy, right in the middle of the hallway, as she squealed with delight. She slung her purse over her shoulder and actually skipped down the driveway to her car.

"Tee hee hee! I've got a date with a hoooooottie!" she sang.

* * *

Clara glanced at the top of Amy's auburn head while she slapped a thick slab of butter on her bread. "Amy, will you put away the newspaper? It's rude to read in a restaurant."

Amy put the paper down for only a moment to look at Clara. "Have some bread with your butter, there? And have you even looked at a paper recently? There's been a rash of violent killings!"

"So there's another sociopath on the loose. That's not news. And you know I'm not watching my weight anymore. It's not like I'm going to have to stuff myself into fifteen yards of French silk and brocade anytime soon," she said, bitterly.

"Fine, fine," Amy said, choosing not to dwell on canceled wedding. "Enough talk about the bastard. And it's not a sociopath. They think some wild animals did it. Just _look_ at the pictures..."

Clara shoved the paper away. "Amy, ew! We're about to have lunch!"

Amy rolled her eyes, dark green, shot through with amber. "It's just interesting, that's all. Why would there be wild animals loose in London? And why hasn't anyone actually seen them? You'd think a pack of dogs would be spotted eventually."

"Dogs?"

"Well, that's the speculation, anyway.” She held open the paper to Clara again. “See the teeth marks here and the way the flesh was torn open--"

"EW!"

Amy giggled at her friend's discomfort, then folded the newspaper and stuffed it into her suitcase of a purse as she spotted Rose coming toward their table.

"Thank God," muttered Clara.

"Hey," Rose greeted the other two girls as she sat down, yawning behind her good hand.

Clara raised a dark eyebrow. "You seem knackered. Late night?"

"Shut it," she mumbled, and her friends exchanged knowing looks.

“All right, what's this blinding emergency?" asked Amy. "And where the hell have you been for the past three days?"

"Yeah," said Clara. "You want to know who had to drive around the three little bitches while you were missing in action?"

"I can explain," said Rose. "See, I met this guy at a bar a few nights ago--"

Both women gasped, dramatically. "Rose met someone at a bar? Shock!"

"Belt up! It was just the two of us at the end of the night and he sent me a drink--"

"Wake me when this is a new story," said Amy.

"Are you going to let me finish?" Rose asked, annoyed. They gestured for her to continue. "Thanks. So, he put this song on the jukebox and we danced--"

"Was somebody getting married?" At Rose's angry glare, Clara shut her mouth.

"Anyway, we went back to his place... And I woke up two days later in my flat."

"He fucked you unconscious for two days?" Amy asked, incredulous. "Can I have his number?"

"NO," was Rose's automatic answer, surprising herself with her possessiveness. "Well, here's the weird part. He called me yesterday. And then he came over. And he took me to A&E--"

"What the hell did you guys DO together?" asked Clara, eyes wide.

"No, no! For my hand!" Rose held her heavily bandaged appendage aloft for them to see.

"What happened?" asked Clara.

"Violent handjob, I'm guessing," said Amy. "Did he have a piercing?"

"Amy! Ew! No!" Rose shuddered in disgust at the mental picture. "I accidentally crushed a drinking glass in my hand."

"How the hell did you _crush_ a drinking glass?"

"I don't know..." She didn't mention that she hadn't even noticed she'd done it until a few minutes after the fact. "It got me eight stitches, though."

Amy grinned. "Can I see?"

Rose stared at her, then held out her hand. "Someone watches too much crime drama. Fine. If it'll make you happy."

Amy unwrapped the bandage expectantly, then frowned. "Rose... When did you say this happened?"

"Yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

Rose took her hand back. While it was clear that there _had_ been a gash across her palm, the skin looked as though it had healed already. The stitches looked completely unnecessary. Moreover, the cuts between her fingers were nearly gone and the fingertips themselves looked perfectly fine.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, turning her hand over to look at the other side. She glanced up at her friends who looked just about as confused as she was. "I guess... the medic just did a really good job?"

"I guess..." said Amy, somewhat doubtfully. “Or he was _Jesus.”_

"Rose," said Clara, her brow furrowing. "I'm worried. Do you think this guy might have drugged your drink and that's why you slept for two days?"

"I don't... think so..." Looking back on the event, even if the Doctor _had_ paid the bartender to slip her something, Rose hadn't even tasted the iced tea.

"So then, you just had a couple nights of amazing sex and the bloke has actually stuck around?" asked Amy. "Remind me what the problem is?"

"Well, it's just that... He does this... thing." She sighed. How could she explain the control the Doctor exhibited over her? "I don't know..."

Clara's eyes narrowed. "You called me at three-thirty this morning and you DON'T know what the problem is?"

"I told you I wasn't sure if it was a problem or not!"

"That still implies that you had _some_ idea of whether or not something was wrong!"

Clara went on to say more, but her words seemed to fade in Rose's ears. She could see her friend's mouth moving, but all she could hear was the beating of her own heart, growing louder and louder by the second. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and suddenly she knew...

_He's here._

"Hello, beautiful."

Clara and Amy started slightly. Rose just turned her head and looked up, her eyes narrowing.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here? You _are_ stalking me, aren't you?"

"No..." The Doctor indicated the dark blue apron he was wearing over his Oxford. He had the sleeves rolled up over his forearms and Rose tried to not let herself be distracted by the expanse of naked flesh. "I work here." He flicked the rectangular badge pinned to his clothing that said ‘The Doctor’ with one finger. “See, I even have a little nametag in case I forget who I am.”

"Oh, bollocks."

The other two women exchanged looks, then smiled knowingly at Rose.

"Are you ready to order?" the Doctor asked them.

Clara ordered for all three of them, as they always got the same thing.

"How do you want that cooked?" the Doctor asked Rose.

"Well done," she answered automatically.

"Do us a favor and burn it," said Clara. "She likes the taste of charcoal."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Rose, surprised. "That... doesn't sound like you."

She lifted one in return. "No offense, Doctor, but you've known me for, what? Three days?"

He shrugged and made a note on his order pad. "I'll be back with your lunch." As he turned, Rose saw him wink at her.

When he had disappeared into the kitchen, her two friends began laughing hysterically, the whole room reverberating with Amy's overly-loud screeching.

"Wait! Wait!" said Clara, gasping for air. "Your incredible monster fuck was _the Doctor?_ The lunch-shift waiter? The most efficient, and yet the _goofiest,_ waiter at our favorite restaurant?"

"I didn't know he worked here," muttered Rose, her eyes on the table. "I've never been here for the lunch shift..."

"Does he have a brother? Perhaps in dishwashing?" teased Amy. "Or maybe a little higher up... Say, a maitre'd?"

"Forget it," said Clara, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "I have NO doubts whatsoever about the drink he sent you. Or did he _bring_ it to you then, too?"

Both women tilted their heads back in absolute hysterics. Rose's eyes narrowed once again. A large bubble of anger grew in her chest, and a deep rumbling issued from her throat.

The laughter stopped. Clara gaped. "Did you... Did you just growl at us?"

Rose blinked. "Um... no. I, uh... I coughed."

"That was NOT a cough."

"Fine. It was... a really long belch."

Clara held up her index finger. "Okay, first, ew. And second... you GROWLED at us!"

"Fine, I growled, whatever!" Rose pushed her chair back and stood up. "I'm going to use the toilet. You harpies can finish your laugh at my expense while I'm gone."

As she left the table, she heard Amy whisper something like "See the sexy way he brings me my ice water... Take me, waiter-man!" and both of them cracked up again.

Rose sighed. "The friends I choose..." But she couldn't complain. While Amy and Clara did make fun of her, they really knew how to put problems into perspective. How could you fret over something that makes people laugh?

Just as she made it to the out-of-the-way bathroom hallway, a hand closed over her wrist. Before she could say anything, that hand pulled her into the kitchen and out the nearby back door. A pair of arms wrapped around her as did the spicy-sweet scent she’d come to know so well over the past few days. At least she knew now why he smelled that way.

She pushed against him ineffectively. "Doctor, what the hell?"

He smiled against her neck as he backed her against the brick wall. "It's called ‘customer satisfaction.'"

"This is not the time--"

His mouth effectively silenced her while his hands trailed down her body. All protestations clouded over and faded from her mind.

However, the spell was broken as the back door to the restaurant opened and someone came out with a full trash bag. His mouth fell open in a perfect ‘O’ as his gaze fell on the two of them. Rose had seen this man before; he was one of the managers. And she had seen that look before, as well. That was the 'you're way out of line and you're going to get fired' look. Rose tried to squirm out of the Doctor's grasp, but he kept a firm hold on her. She looked up at him, wondering what the hell he was thinking.

As the man opened his mouth, the Doctor looked him right in the eyes.

_"You didn't see anything."_

Rose recognized that tone of voice, that direct command.

The man's mouth closed and his eyes kind of glazed over. He turned and walked back into the restaurant, leaving the trash bag on the ground near the dumpster.

"What... How..." she sputtered, utterly confused. "How do you do that?"

He turned his heated gaze on her. _"I'll explain later."_

"...Okay."

Once again, his mouth descended on hers. His arms gripped her tighter and her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts against his chest and he groaned. His hands slid downward, firmly grasping the curve of her bum. He pressed his face into her neck.

“Need you,” he bit out, rolling his hips against hers, letting her feel what she did to him and it was her turn to groan.

Her body’s sinuous movements against his thin frame only seemed to enhance his ardor and he laved her pulse point, flowing into her, their bodies joining through the fabric of their civilized clothes. It was a dance that mimicked their first meeting in the bar, a rhythm that intoxicated both of them to the point of blotting out the world. They moved and pressed and rubbed and grinded, until they were panting with lust, the need between them so great, they were enveloped in a pulsing heat of desire.

Held in the tight grip of desire, the Doctor seized the hem of her short denim overall dress and tugged it over her arse, his hand raking up the inside of her leg and seeking the one place that would sate his hunger for a time. Pushing aside the flimsy scrap of satin that passed for her knickers, Rose was hot and wet, ready for him. The beast inside roared to life, demanding satisfaction.

He shoved the apron out of the way and made quick work of his trousers and pants, then he reached his arms around her, grabbed her arse, and lifted her up. Her legs parted, wrapping around his waist, clutching him close.

Pressing her up against the wall, he braced his legs and their dance continued, but at a much faster pace. His cock pressed into the juncture of her thighs, seeking the heat, needing to plunge into her wetness. Finally, he found his way and thrust deep inside.

Sight and sound were lost. She was overcome by the urgency pulsing inside of her, the thundering need that demanded to be met. He felt fantastic. Long, hard, and thick, filling her completely. He thrust deep inside of her again and again, using gravity to its utmost effect. Suddenly, her body tensed and she muffled her cry against her fist, her other hand gripping desperately at his shoulder. Deep within, her muscles clenched, convulsing around him.

He pounded into her, his heart galloping against his chest, his breath shuddering, until at last he groaned low, his movements stuttering until he went still, twitching and throbbing, seated so deeply inside of her.

* * *

"Sorry," Rose said as she returned to the table many minutes later. "There was... a line. And one of the toilets overflowed." She struggled to contain her smile, but she had no doubt she had ‘just been shagged’ written all over her face.

Her friends exchanged another look. "Uh-huh," they said, together.

She was trying to come up with a snappy reply about how she didn’t answer to the two of them and so they could bloody well shut it when the Doctor brought their food to the table, gracefully balancing all three plates in his arms. She waited for him to say something, but he was all business. Clara and Amy pouted, looking vaguely disappointed for the lack of ammunition. Suddenly ravenous, Rose tucked in without preamble as the Doctor turned and went back to the kitchen.

"All right, so I guess I don't have a _serious_ problem," Rose said between bites. "It just kind of freaked me out, a bloke actually being interested in me for a period longer than six hours or less. No wonder I thought he was stalking me. Mmm... this is really good... I guess I should stop bitching. I really shouldn’t complain when a bloke shows genuine interest. Compared to the prat you were going to marry, Clara, I must seem like a total idiot. Mmmm...” She took another large bite of the hamburger. "Why does this taste so good today?"

Amy blinked in shock. "Rose!"

She looked up. "Hm?"

"What are you eating?"

"Huh?" Rose looked at the burger she was half-way through. At first, she didn't see anything wrong, but then realized the inside of the meat was completely red. She dropped it onto the plate in horror. _Oh, my God... This thing was still mooing, it was so raw..._ She stared at the juice dripping from her hand and, transfixed, licked it off. Realizing what she just did, her eyes widened. "I... I think I'd better go."

She dropped some money on the table, grabbed her purse, and ran for the door. Her friends stared after her in confusion as she practically ran from the restaurant.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

"Why was Rose eating a live cow?"

"I don't know."

Clara poked at the remains of the dripping burger with the opposite end of her fork. "This is... disgusting. She shouldn't have liked eating this. Anything with flavor to it makes her gag."

"Hey, I understand it about as much as you do."

The Doctor came out of the kitchen then, and Clara straightened. "Ah!" She indicated Rose's vacated chair with her fork. "You, sit down, now."

A bit uncertainly, he came over, but didn't sit. "Where's Rose?"

"We'll be asking the questions here," said Amy, imperiously.

"...okay."

"That's more like it. Now, let me tell you something, Doctor. Rose has a certain track record with men.” Amy raised an eyebrow at him, intimidating as a school principal reprimanding a wayward child. "You're not going to be following that track record, _are you?"_

His brown eyes were rather wide. "No, ma'am."

"Good answer," said Clara. "Because we will not be held responsible for our actions if you do." More kindly, she added, "We don't want to see Rose hurt again."

He looked each of them straight in the eye before he answered. "I promise the both of you, nothing will happen to Rose while I am around. Now, will you tell me where she is?"

"Oh, she ran out a couple of minutes ago," said Amy.

"What?" He seemed startled.

"Yeah, she seemed upset."

The Doctor turned and began rushing from the restaurant.

"Hey!" called Amy. "What about our check?"

He pulled it out of his apron pocket and tore it up. "On the house!" he said as he ran out the door.

* * *

_Where the fuck are my car keys?_ Rose couldn't even find the pocket she put them in. _I know I had them when I went in the restaurant. I can't go back in there to look for them! Did I lose them in the alley? Crap!_ All of a sudden, she realized... The skirt of her overalls didn't have pockets. _Shit!_

She grabbed her purse to her chest and fumbled with the zipper. Her hands were shaking so badly she would have dropped it if the purse strap hadn't been on her shoulder. After the zipper got stuck a couple times, she managed to get her car keys out, but not without dropping a pen, her wallet, and a tampon on the ground. _Bloody hell!_ She bent and stuffed her things back in her bag, and in the process dropped her keys. She bent once more and picked them up, only to drop them again. They bounced under her car. "Fuck!" she exclaimed, kneeling down to reach under the vehicle and pick them up.

She remained kneeling as she tried to fit the key in the lock, having to use her left hand, and the odd angle made the simple task difficult. While her right hand seemed to be healing at a remarkable rate, it still hurt like crazy. Her breath was coming very quickly, but she didn't realize it was because she was sobbing, tears just pouring from her eyes and dripping onto her silk-screened t-shirt.

An eternity later, the key finally managed to go into the lock... and it wouldn't turn. After a moment of confusion and mounting panic, she realized that it wasn't her car, just one that kind of looked like it.

A hysterical scream erupted all the way from her soul to echo around the cement parking lot. A few people looked her way, but she really didn't care at the moment. She sat there on the ground and covered her face. She wasn't sure how long she was like that before a pair of capable hands came down and helped her to her feet.

She turned and buried her wet face in the Doctor's apron. Rather than make a smart remark about him stalking her, he was exactly the person she needed at the moment.

"Doctor, I don't understand what's going on!" she wailed hysterically. "My hand's better and it shouldn't be. I growled at my friends! I don't know how to growl! My hand still hurts like hell. I just ate a practically live cow, and I liked it! What is _wrong_ with me? I couldn't find my keys, and this isn't my car! I'm confused and I want to know what's happening, damn it!"

In the midst of the tirade, she was dimly aware of the Doctor's comforting "Shh... I know. I know. It's all right..." but not completely conscious of it. He held her close and stroked her hair while she cried herself out.

"Hey," he said at last, when the sobbing had trickled down to heavy sniffling. "Why don't I take you out tonight?"

She wiped her eyes with her left fist. "No offense, Doctor, but I really don't feel like shagging tonight."

He laughed softly and tilted her face up to gently brush away her tears with the corner of his apron. "No. I mean, let's go on a date. We haven't had one of those. Let's go."

She sniffled. "A date?"

"Yeah. I'll take you out to dinner."

"Where?"

"Well, I know this great hole-in-the-wall place..."

"You're not taking me back to where you work, you cheap bastard!"

He laughed again. "I thought that might get your attention. Don't worry, we'll go someplace nice. To a film, or for a drive, look at some stars. We'll do something fun." He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face. "You look like you could use a distraction."

She nodded. "Okay."

He steered her to her yellow Beetle and unlocked the door for her. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"Seven," she repeated as she climbed into the driver's seat.

"Think you can make it home okay?"

"Yeah." She smiled up at him. "Thanks, Doctor."

"No problem, beautiful."

* * *

"Clara?" asked Amy.

"Yes?"

"What just happened?"

"I'm not sure. But we got a free lunch."

"Can't argue with that." Amy stabbed her fork into her chips. "How about we talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like you _ditching_ me."

Clara winced. She'd wondered when this would come up. "I'm sorry..."

Amy exploded like Clara hadn't even said anything. "You said you were just going to the toilet! Do you have _any_ idea how horrible the film I had to sit through was? And on top of that, you left me to deal with Reinette! NOT cool, Clara!"

"I really am sorry, Amy! I _did_ go to the toilet, but then I met... a bloke." She stopped herself just short of saying Matt's name.

"You met a bloke in the ladies’?"

"No!”

“Okay, let’s go over this. The _ladies’_ is the door with the girl in the triangle dress, the _mens’--”_

Clara rolled her eyes. “Would you shut it? I met him just _outside_ the toilets."

"At least you didn't meet him at a bar."

"Well... We _went_ to a bar."

"Oh, God, tell me he's not a waiter!"

"No, he's not a waiter." _Though he's played one on telly._

"Fuck, everybody's getting bonked but me." Amy chomped a chip viciously. "This is NOT fair."

"Oi, I didn't say I 'got bonked.'"

"Well, did you?"

"No!"

"Then what the HELL did you ditch me for!"

Clara paused. "He was cute, Amy."

"'Cute' does not make up for it."

"And... for a while, I totally forgot about Adam."

Amy groaned. "Aw, bollocks. Don't do that. That means I'm not allowed to be mad at you. And I really, _really_ want to be mad at you right now!" She glanced at her friend's apologetic face and sighed. "Shit..."

"I _am_ sorry, Amy--"

"Yeah, yeah." She devoured another forkful of chips. "All right, tell me about the bloke you met."

Clara hesitated. "Well... He was... pretty normal, actually. Aside from being hyper-cute."

"As hyper-cute as Matthew Grayson Ellef?"

She grinned. "I think... even cuter."

Amy raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, reeeeeeally?" She nodded approvingly and speared another chip. "I got to meet him, you know. Matt Ellef, I mean."

"So did I. He came to Reinette's office, remember?"

"Yeah, but I got to _talk_ to him. Shake his hand, even."

"Oh. Go you."

Amy narrowed her eyes at the other woman. "Go me? _That's_ your reaction? Come on, this is my revenge on you for ditching me! You're supposed to be jealous!"

"Sorry, sorry," said Clara. "How about I take you out to dinner as my penance?"

Amy grinned. "Okay, then _here's_ my revenge. I can't. I have a date!"

"Really? That's great!" said Clara, smiling. "With whom?"

Amy froze. _Shit. Now I have to tell her._ She shoved a bite of her hamburger in her mouth. "Orry Illam," she mumbled around her mouthful as quickly as possible, hoping Clara would just leave it at that.

No such luck. "What?"

"Ory Wilem."

_"What?"_

Amy swallowed hard. There would be no escaping this. "Rory Williams," she said, louder than she probably should have.

Clara's eyes bugged. "The TOY? Wind him up and insert him? You do realize he has no balls whatsoever, right?"

"No, no," Amy said. "He has balls, they're just kept in a mason jar on Reinette's desk. So, he's not ball- _less…_ He's just testicularly challenged."

Clara threw back her head and laughed. "Okay, I thought Rose dating our waiter was funny, but _you_ dating Reinette's Toy tops that by at least three notches!"

"Oi! Rory's hot and funny and sweet and hot--"

"You already said hot."

"It bears repeating!"

"Okay, okay, I know. He used to be a model. I work with the guy, remember?"

Amy gobbled another chip. "Lucky bitch."

"But I thought you'd already attempted to date Rory before and it was a total failure."

"I'm not counting that as a date anymore. That was work. All we did was hang around the office and pass each other print outs and staplers. You know what we talked about? Staples. And paper cuts. And how much of a bitch Reinette is. We talked more about Reinette than we did each other."

"And you want to try this again, why?"

Amy leveled a serious look at her friend. "Have you _seen_ the trousers, Clara?"

Clara sighed. "Yes, I've seen the trousers. To reiterate: I work with him!"

"You can't tell me you've never wondered what's inside those trousers."

"A hot arse and a very big dick, I'm aware!"

"Then _how_ can you ask me stupid questions like _that?_ He has a brain, I spent four hours with him finding that out. I want to know about his naked, throbbing _body!_ I keep having this fantasy about eating a hot fudge sundae off of his abs and damn it, it's going to happen somewhere in this lifetime!"

She made a face. "Ew! Sticky and cold and a total waste of ice cream."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Ben and Jerry are your therapists."

"That is a low blow, Amy."

"No, it's not. You're finally regaining your arse; that's something to be happy about! All Adam wanted was an arseless clothes hanger. You know what it made you? Very disturbing to look at in jeans." She shook her head. "Absolutely no bum, whatsoever! Your legs went right into your waist!"

"Okay, I get it! Sheesh!" Clara rolled her eyes. "Blimey. You _need_ this date."

"Well, I _had_ a date last night, Mr. Hughes, but _someone_ ditched me!"

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope."

Clara glanced out of the nearby window. "Not to change the subject from you brow-beating me or anything..."

"Suuuuuuuure..."

"...But the Doctor's been out there for quite a while. Should we go check on them?"

"Why? You want to see them shagging in the back of Rose's car?"

"No!"

Amy grinned, then leaned over to look out the window. "Okay, I checked. They're fine. He's hugging her or something. Perhaps he's biting her neck. She'll be one of the undead soon."

"That's impossible, it's daytime."

"Geek."

The theme from _Titanic_ cut off whatever Clara would have said in response. She sighed. "You know what that means."

Amy shuddered. "Yeah. Somewhere, an angel just ripped its wings off... and turned into Christopher Walken."

She rolled her eyes and picked up her purse. "If only that was all it meant. Call me when you get home. I want details!"

"Graphic ones?"

She paused. "Well... Yeah. Graphic ones. Get a measuring tape, if you have to."

Amy touched two fingers to her brow in a lazy salute. "Will do. Oh, and I don't think I need to say this, but don't say anything in Reinette's earshot about who he's going out with tonight. No need to make the woman mistreat you both anymore than she usually does."

"Right," she said. "Big Reinette is watching you."

Amy waved as Clara took off for the parking lot. "See you later!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic content here, the descriptions get a bit intense.

Rory hesitated in front of Reinette's office door. He glanced at his watch which read ten minutes past five. He sighed and knocked lightly.

"Come in, Williams."

He never knew how she could always tell it was him, but he never questioned it either. Questioning Reinette meant death, usually. He twisted the doorknob and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Reinette was seated behind her desk, reading a few form papers from a manila packet. "I'm not going to be needing you for quite some time," she said, without even looking up. Rory knew she wasn't talking about work. "Now, why are you bothering me?"

"It's after five," he said.

"I have a clock, Williams."

"I've made... dinner arrangements--"

"I'm not interested," she said, cutting him off.

 _Well, good, you're not invited,_ he thought, but of course he couldn't say it out loud. "I... I wouldn't think so. But I... I'd like to go now."

"What you want is irrelevant, Williams. We've already been over this."

"Right, but--"

"But _what?_ You are mine. I pay you well enough to hand over your body and soul with no arguments."

"Until after five."

"No," she said, finally looking up and freezing him with her stare. "You are mine whenever I say you are. Understand?"

"Yes, Reinette." The hated response just popped out of his mouth. "But..."

She raised an eyebrow. "But?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm hungry. And... I'm not _legally_ obligated to be here after five."

Reinette sighed, as though this was an enormous waste of time. "I don't have the time or the desire to deal with your petty arguments right now. So, I'll let you go. _After_ you ask permission," she added when he turned to leave.

He turned back around and sighed. When he opened his mouth, she cut him off once again.

"No," she said. "Not ask. Beg me, puppy."

The name turned his stomach painfully, but he knew exactly what she expected of him. He dropped down on all fours, very glad that the blinds of her office windows were drawn, and crawled over to the desk. Leaning down, he planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her shiny, patent leather, designer pumps.

Her low giggle raised the hairs along his arms, and he looked resolutely at the floor as he sat back on his haunches. "Please, Reinette," he said. "I beg you. Please, let me go."

She lifted the foot he had so carefully kissed and ran it along the inside of his left thigh, effectively cleaning it off. She continued to run it along his body and when the foot reached his chest, she pushed hard, landing him on his backside.

"You disgust me," she said, wrinkling her nose disdainfully at him. "Look at yourself. You used to be something. Now... You're nothing. You can't even piss without my permission. And you're always going to _be_ nothing. Because I own you, Williams, and I'm never going to let you forget it!" She turned her attention back to the papers on her desk as though the pride she'd just demolished and the man it belonged to were of no consequence. "Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind."

He knew she'd do it, too, so he scrambled to his feet and made for the door. Before he opened it, he turned back halfway and quietly muttered what he knew she wanted to hear. "Thank you, Reinette."

* * *

When he walked into Amy’s office, the look on Rory's face could only be described as defeated. Amy immediately set aside the paperwork she'd been going over and stood up from her desk.

"What happened?" she asked, her dark green eyes full of concern. "You've got the look of a child who's just been told that the pet pig he had raised from infancy was being served to him as bacon!"

He could only shake his head, averting his eyes. "It's... nothing," he said finally, though the statement crumpled his expression even more. "It's just... you know... Reinette." He seemed unable to say anything more about it.

"Ah," said Amy. "I think I understand."

As they walked out to the lift together and his mood didn't seem to be improving, however, she couldn't help herself. She reached out and grasped his hand nearest to her. His bright blue eyes snapped to her face, but a moment later, he offered a shy smile.

"Don't worry," she said as she gave his hand a light squeeze. "Soon, you'll come to your senses and work for me or some other lucky PR rep, or you'll get promoted. Then, a house will fall on Reinette, and the world will be a better place."

A grin spread across his face and he glanced quickly at Amy again. "Who'll get the ruby slippers?”

"Ehh..." She shrugged. "I'm not much for shoes. That's more Clara's thing. I'm more of the..." She paused, thinking. "Hm. I'm not sure. But I'm not shoes."

Rory opened his mouth, as if he was going to comment, but at that moment the lift came to a slow stop in the parking garage level and the doors slid open.

"Who drives?" she asked. "Or should we meet there?"

He hesitated. "I... really don't know where we should go, so would you like to drive? That way, you can pick the place."

"But you're the one who's paying," she pointed out.

"I know..." he said. "I'm treating you, so you get to choose where you want to eat."

She shrugged again and opened the passenger side door of her car for him. "You might regret saying that after you see what I order, but all right."

"Reinette pays me so well, I'm not worried." The mention of his boss seemed to vaporize any good mood he might have been building up and his small smile fell from his face.

He slid into the passenger seat and hit the automatic unlock button. Amy was almost disappointed that she didn't get to see his magnificent arms stretch out over the driver's side to unlock her door manually - Bloody modern technology! She seated herself behind the wheel, buckled the seat belt, and in doing so caught sight of Rory's crestfallen expression.

She sighed. "Okay, if you're going to continue to be depressed, I'm going to slip Thorazine into your food."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be nervous, or happy, or chatty, or whatever. But not depressed or sorry. I'm not! Hell, I'm the luckiest woman on the planet!"

"Why?"

"Why?!" She rolled her eyes in defiance against his modesty. "I'm on a date with Rory Williams! The hottest ex-model currently working in advertising and public relations! What's not to be excited about? Stop blushing." She smiled and turned the key in the ignition. "And that's not even the best part."

Rory’s blush spread to the tips of his ears at her accolade. "What's the best part?"

Amy slid her sunglasses off the top of her head and settled them down on the end of her nose, staring at him over the top. "The best part is, I may have finagled you into this, but _you_ still asked _me_ first." She threw the car into reverse and pulled out of the overly cramped office parking. "What you need is self esteem. And carbs. Lots of carbs." In Amy's mind, those two things together meant only one thing. Italian.

* * *

Rory looked around at the restaurant as Amy put their names in at the pedestal. When she had told him they would be eating Italian that night, he hadn't expected... this. She'd driven up to Mick's Pizza D'Oro; a tiny parlor that looked like it might have been built in the fifties and was still under the same management. The walls inside were fake brick on corkboard, wooden latticework separated the booths at the center of the room, the tables were covered in red and white checked cloths, and decorating the place were fake poinsettias, framed pictures of carrots and garlic, and other works featuring Italy or food done in oil paint.

"Okay," said Amy, returning to the bench on which Rory had taken up residence. "It's going to be about forty-five minutes."

"What?" Rory asked, his eyebrows lifting towards his hairline. "For this place?"

She rolled her eyes. "Snob. Look at all these people," she said, gesturing to the packed interior. "Do you think they come here for the ambiance? They come here for the food. Trust me, once you taste the buffet, you'll understand. Now, budge up."

His quick intake of breath was hastily stifled as Amy's thigh was very suddenly pressed against his own when she sat on the bench next to him.

"Working for Gallifrey, I've come into the acquaintance of many a restaurant," she said, once settled. "I've gone to restaurants where you have to place a reservation three months in advance of the actual date you want to eat on, you have to come by an hour early and you still have to wait three hours for a table, then you spend five thousand pounds on a meal that was probably prepared by third world children who get paid 50p per night, you leave still hungry, and you wonder why you took all that effort to go there anyway."

He laughed. "Reinette _likes_ to go to those kinds of places. The pain of third world children is amusing to her, I suppose."

"Speaking of the she-beast," said Amy, with a grin. "Why are you not with her tonight, boy-toy?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "She doesn't require me to be with her every night."

"Require?"

He nodded. "It's the word she uses."

"Wow," she said. "You must be good." She shook her head, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "All right, my focus is rapidly dwindling. We've got five minutes before all I'm going to be thinking about is Rory Williams naked. So, hurry. Tell me about your childhood and... stuff."

He blinked. "Right, uh, okay... I'm the youngest of five, all sisters. Our mother divorced our father soon after I was born. I only saw him occasionally growing up and I don't fault her for the decision. They weren't suited to each other and that man was just not meant to be married. We were all raised by her and her... friend."

Amy tilted her head. "Friend?" she asked, making air quotations.

"Right. Her girl friend."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh, reeeeeeally? Wow."

"Yeah," he said. "Every single one of them: powerful, domineering feminists."

"No wonder you work for Reinette so well."

"I was discovered for modeling while taking my A-levels," he said, quickly changing the subject. "The modeling gigs paid for uni."

"So, you didn't want to be a model?" she asked.

"No, I wanted to be in business."

"Which is what you went to uni for."

"Right."

"So, how'd you end up working for Gallifrey?"

He shrugged. "They were the ones who accepted my resume? I suspected at first that I got hired because I was 'pretty.'"

She nodded. "Junior execs have been hired for less. How'd you end up working for Reinette, then? And what do you mean 'was?'"

He sighed. "This is mostly speculation on my part, but I'm guessing that Reinette saw how useful I could be to her, she orchestrated my demotion, and one condom wrapper in her office bin later, there I was, her assistant. No one would offer to promote me ever again, they're all too afraid of her, so I'm stuck there until the day I die." He hoped she wouldn't notice that he neglected to answer her second question.

"You make it sound like she owns your soul."

"Never did read the contract fully," he said with a little smile.

"What exactly do you do for Reinette? I know you proof-read and all that, but what do you really _do?"_

"Whatever she says," he answered in a flat tone. "Mostly, I'm her informant. She wants to find something out, I go pal around with the execs, play golf with them, laugh hysterically at their very, very bad jokes, get them drunk, and they let slip a few secrets, which I am then to report directly to Reinette. I'm kind of like her... magic mirror, I suppose."

"And the rest of the time?"

"I guess I'm... kind of like a pet."

She blinked in surprise. "Harsh. What's the attraction? I mean, there has to be some attraction for you, you're out with me, after all."

He glanced at her. "Um... No. There isn't any."

"Then, why would you sleep with her?"

"It's not like I'm given much of a choice," he muttered, then clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. "I mean, um..."

"Amy, party of two," called the hostess.

Rory gratefully stood up from the bench and waited for Amy to follow the hostess into the dining area before walking after her.

* * *

_6:30pm_

"He is SO not worth this," Rose muttered to herself as she applied a good coat of mascara to her lashes. She yanked open her drawer of random cosmetics and scowled at her tray of lipsticks. "Okay. Burnt Ruby or Perfect Plum?... Crap, I have to decide what to wear first!"

_6:40pm_

"Soooo not worth this," she told herself as she debated over the blue dress or the red skirt and white blouse with the tie ensemble, picked from the enormous pile of clothing she'd thrown on her bed. Thinking of the little blue pin-stripes on the Doctor’s suit, she picked up the blue dress and went to find appropriate under garments.

_6:50pm_

"I cannot _believe_ I am doing this," she said to her reflection as she attempted to use a curling iron without burning herself. Setting the beauty implement down, she stared into the mirror. _"Why_ am I doing this?" Unable to come up with an answer, she continued to primp.

It was then a loud clang came from outside. She sighed and went to the door. A large raccoon was going through her bins. _Great, this is_ just _what I need when I'm trying to get ready..._

As the light from the doorway spilled across the bins, the raccoon looked up and hissed at her. She took a step backward, not wanting a vicious raccoon on her hands... but then her mind fuzzed a bit, and that same deep rumble from the restaurant rolled up from her throat, her lips curling into a feral snarl.

The animal froze, then ran off as though the devil was on its tail. Rose clapped a hand over her mouth, shocked. _I... I just growled..._ She ducked back inside and slammed the door.

Leaning against the wall, her mind raced. _When did I learn how to do that? Shit, I really DID growl at Clara and Amy at the restaurant... How do you apologize for growling when you didn't even know you could?_ This was followed by an irrational curiosity to see what she looked like when she growled. She went to the loo and unsuccessfully tried to recreate her expression, before the doorbell rang, startling her.

Thoughts of growling swept from her mind, she rushed to the door, then slowed. She patted her hair, smoothed her skirt, and swiped a finger across her teeth to check for lipstick. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she opened the door.

"Hello, beautiful."

The Doctor was in his usual brown pin-stripes and tan coat, though the tie was a new one, with blue swirls all over it. His great hair was artfully tousled with some type of product, perhaps she wasn't the only one who had put forth an effort. He held out a small pot of violets and, somewhat awkwardly, she took them. Who gives potted flowers?

"I thought you could use some color and life in this vast wasteland of a flat," he said, by way of an explanation.

Well, it was a strange gift, but apparently a thoughtful one. "Um... thanks. I guess you're right. This really is little more than a place to sleep and keep my stuff. I'll just put these on the sink."

She walked to the kitchen. As she placed the flowers below the window where he had turned up just yesterday, she jumped slightly as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She hadn't even heard him move. How did he get across the room so quietly? He tilted his head into her neck and inhaled deeply. The rush of cold air across her skin made her shiver.

"I thought so," he murmured.

"What?"

"You changed the scent you wear. You smell delicious."

"I, uh... just used a different soap," she said, very surprised that he had noticed.

He seemed pleased. "For me?"

"No."

His head came up. "What?" His voice had taken on a slightly rough edge in that one word.

"Well, I get to enjoy it, too," she said, trying not to appear as though her knees were liquefying.

"Oh..." He sounded relieved. He smiled, took her hand, and spun her around to face him. "Shall we go?"

She thought briefly about the raccoon, but decided against telling the Doctor. It didn't seem like the right moment to bring it up, when he was about to take her out to help her forget about weird things like that. "Sure." She grabbed her red coat that had been draped over the back of a chair. "Do you want me to drive?"

"No, no. Let me."

He even held the door open for her.

* * *

As Amy sat down, she realized something was beginning to bug her about the way Rory behaved... but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. She reached for her water glass and took a long sip as she pondered what it could be, noting that Rory did the same. She set the glass down and narrowed her eyes at him slightly, trying to figure him out. He also replaced his glass and smiled at her.

"Okay, how much does she pay you?" she asked.

"Enough to do her bidding with no arguments," he said in a flat tone.

"Wow. I’m afraid I don't have that much in my bucket." She thought about it for a minute. "I could pay you out of pocket. I could live off of pot noodle and tap water, I did it in uni, I could do it again!" He laughed and shook his head in response, probably knowing as well as she did that it wouldn't work. She shrugged. "Well, it was a thought."

She reached for her water glass and again, noticed that he did so as well; picking up his own glass and drinking as she did. She set it back down, he set it back down. _Okay, this is weird,_ she thought. Furrowing her brow just slightly, she picked up her glass and raised it to her lips... then set it back down again quickly without drinking from it. It would have been funny to watch as Rory did the same, if it wasn't bugging her so much as to why he was doing it!

"Are you copying me?" she asked.

"What? Um... No? I mean... I'm sorry?" he stammered.

She was about to say something more, when their waiter came up to the table to take their order. Amy hadn't even looked at the menu, but she came there often enough to know what she wanted.

"I'll have the chicken parmegiana," she said.

"That sounds good," said Rory. "I'll have the same."

Amy narrowed her eyes a bit. "Actually," she said before the waiter could leave. "I'd like to change that to the dinner buffet."

"No problem," said the waiter.

"Oh, that sounds even better," said Rory. "Please change my order to that, as well."

Once the waiter had left, Amy planted her hands on her hips. "You _are_ copying me! Mum! Rory's copying me!" she said, in a high, young voice.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking a bit red. "I've just never been here before and I figured you would know what was best to eat; I didn't mean to offend you..."

"Offend me?" she repeated. "Rory, I'm not _offended!_ Just a little... freaked out."

"Oh. I'm sorry," he said.

"Stop apologizing," she said, rolling her eyes. "And if you say 'I'm sorry' for being sorry, I'm going to smack you! God, what does Reinette _do_ to you?"

He bit down on his lips. Suddenly, it hit her... The attitude, the 'copying,' waiting for her to do everything first, and the way he did whatever Reinette said... She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him with a serene air and a little smile on her face. "Oh, I get it," she said. "You're a submissive!"

"Oh, God," Rory muttered, hiding his face with one hand.

"No, no, no, no!" she said. "It's cool!"

He looked up at her, shocked. "It's... cool?"

"Yeah!" she said, excitedly. "It's--" _Hot._ But she stopped herself in time, looking down at the tabletop as she blushed bright red. "It's... you know."

"No," he said, looking seriously confused. "I don't."

"You _know,"_ she said, waving a hand in a vague circular gesture. "It's... exciting, and... different, and..."

His eyes bugged slightly. "You think it's _sexy?"_

"Yes. I think it's sexy," she declared. "Yeah, I said it. What?"

"Nothing," he said, still looking stunned. "It's just... That's not what I expected to hear. At least, not from you."

"Great, Rory," Amy said, trying to struggle through her growing arousal and diminishing witty comebacks. "Less than five minutes pass and now all I can think of is you, naked, strapped to a table. All my conversation for the evening is now shot to hell. Ta, ever so."

"I'm sorr-- Quick, tell me about your childhood," said Rory.

"Fine, it was fine."

"You really can't think of anything else?" He shifted in his seat as if his trousers were too tight all of a sudden.

"Multi-tasking under these conditions is a bitch." She sighed and shook her head, forcing some semblance of focus back into her brain. She rose from the table to head to the buffet, with Rory close behind, hoping the movement would turn her thoughts to something more mundane. "Okay, I am an only child. My parents died in Scotland when I was a young girl and I was raised by an aunt in Leadworth until I reached majority. My upbringing before I moved to England was... not normal."

"How so?" he asked.

"I grew up in a cult." Rory laughed, however Amy remained very serious as she began heaping pasta on a warm plate. "No. Really. I was raised in a cult. An-honest-to-God, white robed, holy hosanna, praise-Jesus-and-pass-the-Kool-aid cult. My mother and father had gotten into it on the ground floor when it was just a bunch of people studying the bible in some guy's basement. Before they knew it, they were wrapped up in this whole twisted way of life thing."

"How was it?"

Plates full, they headed back to the table and sat down. "Great. If you were a _man_ ," she said, beginning to talk between bites. "See, they taught that women were put on this earth for the sole purpose of service to men and making babies. They had us scared shitless about what a woman should be like so she could be pleasing to her husband. When I was sixteen, I was absolutely certain that the instant my stylist cut my hair for the first time, lightning would strike me dead. When I was five, I had nightmares about Jesus coming back, scunnered beyond all belief, burning and killing everything and everyone who had ever made him angry in any way." She shuddered and was still for a very long moment. She wasn't sure when Rory took her hand, but she squeezed it lightly as soon as she realized. "Sorry. Kind of went off there."

"No, it's okay," he said, a look of concern on his face. He showed no intention of taking his hand back anytime soon. "How long were you trapped in that?"

"I got out when I was taken in by my aunt at age seven. Just after they blamed the car accident that killed my dad on the fact that my mother had stopped coming to services and she committed suicide."

"Bastards."

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding. "But even after I'd gotten out, you can probably imagine the hell of a time I had trying to pry my brain out of the ditch they'd put it in. After seven years of believing that all a woman was good for is popping out kids, I was suddenly a twenty year old virgin and couldn't stop thinking I was worthless."

The horrified look on Rory's face was remarkably comforting. "How could you possibly think that?"

"Imagine someone telling you that you've been wearing color contacts your whole life without realizing it and the sky is really fuchsia. Yeah, it's kind of like that."

"Well, what did you do? Or are you still--?"

"NO!" said Amy. "God, no!" She smiled, remembering. "Rose helped me. I was talking to her on the phone one day and she said, 'Your mission this weekend, Amy, is to go out and get laid. You can do it! Take one for the team! And I want you to call me the second you get done!'"

"And?"

"I went out; I got laid."

"And did you call her right after?"

"Hell, no! I waited until the next morning."

"And what did she say?"

"She yelled at me for not calling her the second we were done."

Rory threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh like that. The sound left a kind of aching feeling below her stomach, but a pleasant one. _How can an ache be pleasant?_ she wondered.

"And how did that make you feel?” he asked. “Not the yelling, I mean... The getting laid."

"Empowered."

Rory took a sharp intake of breath and his eyes closed for a moment. The hand on hers tightened just slightly and she tilted her head at him curiously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just... happy for you. That's all."

"Happy?" she repeated, confused.

"Yeah," he said, again shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "You know... _happy._ For you."

"Hap-- OHHHH!" she exclaimed, suddenly realizing he was trying to say she’d given him a knob-on. She blushed. "Happy... For me... Niiiiiiiiiiice." She sat up in the booth and smiled at him. "I want to try something."

"Try something?"

"Yeah. Do you mind?"

He shook his head. "No. What are you going to do?"

Rather than answer, Amy slipped her foot out of her shoe and ran it gently along the inside of his leg. Rory gasped and started almost violently out of his seat.

"No, no, no," said Amy, playfully. "Don't move." She snickered as he went completely motionless. "You can eat your food... Just don't let on what's happening."

"Oh," he said. "Right. Got it." He picked up his fork and looked at her before digging in again. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"No," she said, still running her toes up and down his thigh. "I'm full."

"Oh." He set his utensil back down and put his hands on the table.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Uh... Yeah."

"Then why aren't you eating?"

"Because you're not?"

She rolled her eyes. "Rory, if you’re hungry, then for God’s sake, eat!" And Amy watched as Rory finished off not only his plate, but the rest of hers. She shook her head at him. "I hate you."

He blinked. "What?"

"HOW can you eat that much and stay so thin and muscular?"

His eyes went wide. "Huh? You have got to be kidding. I have moobs."

"Moobs?"

"Man-boobs. I'm not nearly as cut as I used to be when I modeled."

"Shut it before I smack you." She giggled as he once again took a sharp inhale. "Well... Do you want dessert?" She reached for the dessert menu at the head of the table, but stopped as his hand came down on top of hers. She looked at him, askance.

He shook his head. "Not here."

"Okay, there's an ice cream par--" She halted, stared at him, then laughed. "Is that the only thing you can think about?" He reddened slightly and she grinned at him. "Let's stop by a Tesco’s first," she said.

"All right. What for?"

"I want a hot fudge sundae."

* * *

True to his word, the Doctor didn't take Rose back to Cafe Tardis for dinner. Instead, they were seated inside a nice Chinese restaurant with dim lighting, a water view, and food served on a Lazy Susan.

After they had ordered their dinner, he took one of her hands in his. It was starting to seem like he always needed to be touching her in some way.

"So?" he asked, tilting his head to encompass the rest of the restaurant.

She smiled. "Nice."

"Glad you approve," he said, returning it. "So, tell me more about yourself."

"You've seen my flat, you've met my friends. There isn't much more to tell."

"Come on," he said. "Tell me about your childhood; brothers, sisters, parents..."

She sighed lightly. "I'm the middle child of three. My little sister, Lynda-with-a-Y--"

"Wait a second," he said, almost choking on his iced tea. "Lynda-with-a-Y?"

"It’s how she introduces herself," she told him.

He threw his head back and laughed. "That's absolutely horrible!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Why don't you tell me about it, _Theta?"_

"Touché."

"What's your full name, anyway?"

He winced, as though perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. "Theta John Smith."

"Theta John Smith?" When he nodded, she shrugged. "Why not just go by ‘John?’ Plenty of people go by their second name, in fact, it used to be considered ‘fashionable’ to have a first initial. You could be ‘T. John Smith.’"

"It's just so ordinary," he said. “And I’m not. I like ‘the Doctor.’”

"Does 'Theta' have a special place in your parents' hearts or something? Are you named after an unfortunate relative?"

"My father was a theoretical physicist. When my mum was pregnant, he was working on development of a machine capable of synthesising and transmitting thought patterns. It emitted ‘theta-waves.’ Mum said that he was so obsessed with completing it, she gave me the name just so he'd pay attention to me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

"The really sad part is that he died before the machine was ever completed. So, as you were saying?"

She nodded. "Right. My younger sister Lynda works in the same office building I do."

"What do you do?"

"I work in Human Resources. I'm a people person." She rolled her eyes. "Not that I really need to work too much. I inherited a substantial amount of money when I reached majority. It had been put into a trust for all three of us after our dad and then mum died. And my Gran left me her house up North because she knew I'd take care of it."

"Why work at all, then?"

She hesitated. "The truth? Who wants to live in a big empty house all by themselves? I'd turn into the psycho with twenty cats in three months. Not to mention that house has too many memories. It'd be sad to live there, now that Gran's gone."

"Tell me more," he said with a smile, stroking her palm with his fingers.

With her free hand, she toyed with the straw in her drink. "We lived in Wales back then. Dad died in a car accident right after Lynda was born. Hit and run, they never found the man who did it. Mum disappeared one day when I was twelve. We all went to school and when we came back, she was gone. The police found a body in the river a month later and said it was hers. We were all raised by her sister in East London. Our big brother, Tony, left as soon as he was able, went back to Cardiff, I get a few phone calls here and there and a Christmas card each year." The sensation the Doctor's fingers created turned her mind back to the subject and off the oncoming tirade. She was finding, though, that the words were coming easier to her. "Sorry," she said. "I'm not really used to talking about my personal life."

"It's okay," he said. "Tell me whatever you want."

"Well, my 'real job' consists of toting my sister and her pals around, from bar to bar, club to club, and acting as a sort of filter for undesirables."

"Let me guess," he said. "One of those girls you were with that night was your sister. The brunette?"

"The ash blonde with the pom-pom ponytails. She got her position as a senior copy editor through Reinette. The platinum blonde with the designer everything. She's slept with just about every CEO in the company."

"Even the female ones?"

"I wouldn't put it past her. She gets whatever she wants. Clara-- oh, one of the girls I was with today..."

"I know Clara and Amy. They're always at the Tardis for lunch."

She grinned. "Right. Well, Clara works directly underneath the three of them as Reinette's assistant, that's how I met her. Amy works for the same company, but on a different account; her and Reinette are at about the same level. I heard through the company grapevine recently that they're up for the same promotion. Fireworks are guaranteed to fly." She released a breath. "Okay, I told you mine, now you tell me yours."

He smiled, somewhat self-depreciatively. "I had probably the singularly most unremarkable childhood possible. Take Leave It To Beaver, The Brady Bunch, and all those horrible family shows of that era, take out the brothers and sisters, mix well, and there's my childhood."

"You're an only child? You suck."

He nodded. "Yeah. There are only two ways a kid will turn out when there aren't any siblings to soften the blow. Either extremely spoiled or rebellious. I went the rebellious route."

Rose snickered. "You? A bad boy? Sure, I can see it."

"Your sarcasm is blinding."

"Come on, Doctor! You're way too cute to pull off that kind of image."

He grinned. "Thanks."

She rolled her eyes. "You're welcome."

"Anyway, unable to stand all the prying and snooping any longer than I had to, I finished school early and went to uni as far away from home as I could. I had the time of my life, doing things I was never allowed to, or wouldn't have dared to under my parents' watchful eyes. I was the first person in that city to wink at the camera as my mug shot was being taken. I guess it was inevitable that the first woman I had any kind of serious relationship with couldn't be normal either."

She tilted her head. "Not normal?"

"She was one of my professors," he hastened to explain.

"Really? Are you going to tell me she came on to you?"

"It was kind of mutual. But she did come on really strong. On our first night together she said I was hers."

 _Sounds familiar,_ she thought.

"I was seventeen; I got scared and ran off for about a month. When I came back, I found out that she had been killed in an accident about a week before."

Rose blinked. "Whoa. How did you take that?"

"Not very well." That seemed an unsatisfactory answer, but he went on before she could ask more about it. "I started hanging out with her friends, well, they became my friends, but they always saw me as a kind of outsider; a lone wolf, as it were... And here I am."

She paused a moment to let all of the information sink in. "That seems really..."

"Lonely?" he offered. "Yeah. It is."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, but was saved by the arrival of their food.

* * *

"Why is it we just ate a few hours ago and I'm hungry again?" Rose asked as they were heading back to the Doctor's car after the film.

The Doctor hesitated a moment. "Isn't that the way it goes with Chinese?"

"Hmm... I guess."

"We could get some burgers and chips on the way back."

Nothing had ever sounded more delicious. "Mmm..."

For some reason, Rose fell quiet then. Something was... off. Not right. But what was it? The back of her neck prickled, raising her hackles... Wait, she didn't have hackles. But still, she could sense that something was wrong. She looked to her left, in the direction of an alley by the side of the theater.

"What is it?" he asked, but it didn't sound like a real question and she realized that the Doctor had been rather quiet in that moment as well.

"Something's... down there," she said as she started moving in that direction.

"You probably saw a cat. Come on, let's go to the car. That alley's dark and creepy."

"You're dark and creepy, and I like you."

"As flattering as that is, I really think we should go to the car."

"Just a second, I want to find out what's over there..."

"But there's rubbish..."

At the mouth of the alley, she turned to give him a look. "Doctor, wasn't it _you_ who shagged me in an alley, five feet from the bins?" She turned back around.

"Rose, don't go down there." This time, it wasn't a direct command, but more of a plead; _please, don't go down there._

The smell hit her first and she wrinkled her nose, wondering what could possibly be making such a stench. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley, that's when she saw it. The body was only identifiable as a man because of the blood-soaked, tattered clothes that were still hanging off of him. The man's throat had been completely torn out. His mouth, what she presumed was his mouth, was hanging open in a silent scream. He was missing one leg and both his arms, though a couple of his fingers lay a few feet away. As she watched, a scruffy cat darted out from behind a bin, picked one up, and made off with it. The soft tissue of the man's abdomen had been torn into, leaving his ribcage partially exposed. Some of the bones were missing, as were most of the organs that should have been there. A pool of drying blood surrounded the body. More blood had sprayed in an arc on the alley wall and splashed onto the bins. There was... so much blood, the entire alley reeked of the metallic-sweet smell.

Her heart thudded loudly in her ears as she took everything in. Her body heat seemed to be rising to an unbelievable fever pitch. She couldn't think. She opened her mouth to scream, and everything she had eaten in the past week, it seemed like, violently poured forth. Just as she thought she might cease throwing up, suddenly, everything went white.

* * *

Amy might have wished that she'd had the forethought to take the stuffed animals and classic board games off the shelf in her bedroom and hide them. She also might have wished that she had bought a new sofa, cleaned the grout in the bathroom, fixed the blinds to the sliding glass doors, and lots of other things of that nature. She probably _would_ have wished for those things... if Rory Williams had not surpassed her every fantasy and was quickly proving himself to be the world's greatest and most passionate kisser. At the moment, all those other things had faded into the 'not that important' file, and her mind was fully engrossed in locking this moment away for all eternity, to be enjoyed over and over again when it was done.

"You _could_ leave now," she told him as they stood at the doorway of her flat when they finally pulled apart and she tried to catch her elusive breath. "You could shake my hand, tell me what a great time you had, and run off into the night. But I warn you, if you kiss me again... if you so much as peck me on the cheek... you will definitely be calling in sick for work tomorrow morning."

"Call in? To Reinette?" Rory's eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose. "You have no idea of the wrath that would follow."

There was a pause that lingered in the air as his gaze roved over her face. Both of them were only standing about a hair's breadth apart, and she could feel the heat from his skin radiating onto her. Amy thought for sure he was going to turn around and walk at that second.

She was never so glad to be so wrong about something in her entire life.

The kiss that Rory planted on her lips was soft without being tentative or hesitant. He silently begged her lips to part and let him have a small taste of her. When she yielded, his kiss went from begging to hungry without delay. His hands that a moment ago had cradled her face, were clutching at her hair, pulling at her shirt, desperately seeking any sliver of bare skin. He moaned against her mouth when her shirt yielded under his fingers and he swept his hand across the small of her back.

Amy pulled him inside the flat, slammed the door behind them, and dropped all excess things, purse, jacket, bag of ice cream, on the floor. Both of them fell on the couch.

"Ow!" said Rory, breaking off their kiss. "This is the most uncomfortable couch I've ever sat on!"

"You can thank Rose and her boy-toy at the time for that," she said. "It wasn't even that comfortable to begin with, but I really got it for the table and chairs that came in the set. Believe it or not, this one was actually the most comfortable of the couches they were offering." She blinked, the mundane talk beginning to break through her haze of lust. "Do you really want to talk about my couch right now?"

"No," he said, leaning in to kiss her again with wonderful mastery, his strong, capable hands doing maddening things to her body.

That was all Amy could take. He was getting naked, and he was getting naked that _instant,_ if she had any say in it! Her hands slid down from around his neck to the front of his shirt where she blindly began unbuttoning it. She got to the third one down when Rory pulled away from her. Immediately, her body cried out in denial.

"Maybe... Maybe we shouldn't do this," said Rory, stuttering slightly through labored breathing. He looked down at the cushions of the couch, beginning to wring his hands. "I _do_ have to get up for work in the morning and I can't call in sick to Reinette, she'll be furious..."

The words had an effect similar to that of a cold shower. Amy dragged a hand through her long hair. _I should have figured that he'd want to leave if things got too heavy. He's used to being with someone totally different, someone who probably knows what the hell she’s doing..._ She took a deep breath, trying to force her voice to a somewhat normal tone. "Well... okay. I mean, I can't say I'm not disappointed, but if that's really what you want, then... Rory, will you stop fidgeting for a second?" she said, grabbing his wrists.

When she did so, he sucked in a breath, wincing.

 _That was pain,_ she thought, confused. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry--" She stopped, eyes narrowing slightly. "That... _shouldn't_ have hurt you." She opened her hands to have a look at his wrists, but he took the opportunity to pull them away from her and put them behind his back. "Oi!"

"It's nothing," he said, quickly. "It's just... you know, it's... I should go..."

"Rory," said Amy, stopping him when he would have gotten up off the couch. "Show me your hands."

He wouldn't look up at her, but slowly, he brought his hands to the front and extended them to her. She unbuttoned the cuffs and pushed back the sleeves, her mouth falling open when she saw deep red marks marring his wrists. On a closer look, she could tell that they had been put there recently.

"Oh, my God," she said, softly. "Did _she_ do this to you?"

He didn't answer and still refused to look at her. Amy once again began undoing the buttons of his shirt and this time he made no move to stop her. The blue button-up that perfectly matched his eyes came off, leaving him in his vest top. Her eyes roved over the red marks on his arms before she started tugging the vest up and over his head. She stifled the gasp that came up when she saw every red, black, and purple mar across his chest. She could guess that there were more on his back, but she didn't move to check. Some of the marks were turning yellow, as though they were healing.

 _This wasn't a one time thing,_ she thought. _She does this to him... regularly._

She ran her fingertips across one white mark that was quite obviously an old scar. There were actually several of them. When she looked up at Rory's face, there were tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

Carefully, she took his hands in hers once again and lifted his wrists, kissing the marks gently, first one and then the other. He took a deep breath, but she somehow knew that this time it wasn't from pain. Moving on, she kissed his arms, his shoulders, every place with an angry mark across it that she could reach. She could feel tears falling into her hair as she laved attention on his beaten chest. When she was through, she took him in her arms and ran her fingers through his hair until the shudders wracking his strong frame had stopped for the most part.

She pulled back just a bit and took his face between both of her hands, looking him straight in the eyes. "Listen to me very carefully, Rory," she said in a gentle yet commanding tone. "You are not to let her do this to you again. You don't belong to her anymore, understand? You are stronger than the hold she has on you. You cannot let her hurt you again. You don't deserve it. I know you can stand up to her and, one day, you will. One day, you'll march right into that office, reach into that mason jar, pull your balls out of it, and wave them in her face before re-attaching them," she paused with a smile as he laughed softly through his quieting tears. "And you'll say to her, 'Cast ye back to Hell, bitch!' or something to that effect... Do you understand me? Never again. Got it?”

He merely nodded.

"Good," she said. "Come on." She helped him off of the uncomfortable couch and pulled him with her down the hall to her bedroom with its large puffy bed. When she'd stripped him out of his trousers down to his pants, she removed her own clothes, blushing slightly as he stared, and then took a large white nightshirt out of her dresser.

He looked at her askance, gesturing at the nightie. "You... don't want to...?"

She threw it over her head and came back to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I really don't think that's what you need tonight," she said. "Right now, all I want to do is hold you. That's okay with you, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said instantly, holding her to him very tightly, nuzzling his cheek against the top of her head. "Yes, yes, yes... Thank you. Thank you, Amy."

In answer, she leaned up on tip-toe and gave him a brief kiss. Then, she guided him into the bed and was about to get into it herself when she remembered something.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, her eyes going wide.

"What?" he asked.

"The ice cream! I left it on the floor!"

She ran back out into the front room and sighed as she picked up the gooey mess that had melted inside the grocery bag. As she threw it in the bin under the sink, she knew she'd get a horrified lecture from Clara later for wasting perfectly good ice cream. "Well," she said, softly. "There's always... next time." And there _would_ be a next time, if she had anything to say about it. Hot fudge sundae abs, damn it!


	7. Chapter 7

Consciousness came slowly for Rose. Her entire body was hot and sweaty, like she'd been thrown in the middle of a tropical jungle. She was laying on something soft, a bed, she realized after a minute, but to her it wasn't very comfortable. The sheets surrounding her scratched her overly-sensitive skin and only added to the stifling feeling. She told her arm to move and shove some of the covers away, but it wouldn't obey her. It felt like fifty pound bags of sugar had been strapped to every limb. What was wrong with her? How had she gotten sick? The last thing she remembered was--

She struggled to keep her gorge down, but her stomach had nothing left in it to heave. That man in the alley... How long had he been there? It probably had only been a little while. Whatever did it to him might still have been around... But Rose felt certain she would have known if that were true. How that would be possible, she had no idea.

Fuzzily, voices started to intrude, as if someone was adjusting the tuning on an old radio; only in this case, the radio was her own head. She recognized the Doctor's voice right away, but the second voice, a female's, she couldn’t immediately place, though she sounded very familiar. Rose became aware that they had probably been speaking for a while, but her ears were only starting to receive sounds again.

"You really cocked up this time, eh, Theta?" the woman was saying. "Don't give me that look. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have called me."

"I called because I don't know why she's so sick," the Doctor said.

"Then you obviously don't remember. That's pretty typical, most of us block it out." The sound of a body shifting in a chair. "You should have called me the first night if you had regrets."

"I don't regret what I did."

"You obviously do. Or you would have taken care of this already. And if you really don't regret it, you should know that leaving her in the dark is only going to confuse her more."

"I was told right away and I ran. I don't want her to run from me. Anyway, this is my problem--"

"That's right, your problem, your cock-up, your responsibility. God... Did you even think about what you were doing?"

"Yes, I thought about it!" The annoyance in the Doctor's voice was rising. "Look, I saw her and I knew that she was meant for me--"

"You talk like you were changed two weeks ago."

Rose's brows furrowed together. What did that mean? In fact, what did the whole conversation mean? It might have been the fever, but she was having trouble following what they were talking about. Maybe it would help if she saw what was going on... With a supreme effort, she began to pull herself to the edge of the bed.

"You've got no right to lecture me about responsibilities," the Doctor was saying. "When are you going to take care of him?"

A heavy sigh. "Harry says he’s fighting corruption. It's what we do, what we've always done."

"Fighting corruption?" the Doctor repeated incredulously. "He's killing innocent people!"

Rose almost fell off the side of the bed at that remark. _What!_ Her shaky legs felt like they wouldn't hold her up, let alone carry her, so she got down on all fours and slowly crawled to the doorway.

"We don't know that they're innocent," the woman said.

"Oh, really?" said the Doctor. Papers rustled. "Just look at the newspapers! A mother of four... A college student... A man walking his dog through the park! There is something _wrong_ with him, you know that. You need to take care of this; people are really starting to notice, just like in Cardiff. Rose found one of his leavings tonight."

Rose froze. Whatever had killed that man in the alley was a _person?_ And the Doctor _knew_ him? She managed the last few feet to the cracked open door and peeked out with one eye. The Doctor was pacing across the room, holding a bunch of newspaper clippings in his hands and flipping through them rapidly. A blonde woman was seated nearby, arms and legs crossed, one foot jouncing anxiously. She looked just like... Rose blinked and shook her clouded head, trying to make her vision clear.

 _Mum?_ Why was the Doctor talking to her mother? Her mother was dead; Rose had identified the body, she’d gone to the funeral. But in her fevered mind, she was absolutely certain that the woman scolding the Doctor was her mum. _Why would mum make excuses for someone who's killing people? And how does she know the Doctor?_

"We can go round in circles like this all night, Theta, but it won't do any good." Jackie pointed a manicured finger at him. "You need to focus on your problem. What's happening to her is happening because you were so bloody selfish."

"I'm telling you, she was meant to be mine."

"Right. And you didn't spare one thought for her feelings, did you?"

"She was lonely, I could see that."

"Are you going to tell me that you did this because you were lonely? I know you were devastated about Lania, Theta, we all were, but there are rules that we have to follow!"

"I know."

"There are not many creatures on this Earth that mate for life!" She counted on her fingers. "Beavers, pigeons, swans--"

"And us! I know!"

"If you _know,_ then how could you do something so royally stupid?"

"This has nothing to do with Lania, no matter what you might think."

"Oh? Then you love this woman?"

Rose's heart just about stopped beating... but the Doctor didn't answer. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Theta," said Jackie, her tone becoming more moderate. "You either need to take responsibility for your actions, or get rid of the problem."

He hesitated. "What would you do?"

"If it were me?" She stood up and brushed her hands together briskly. "I'd get rid of her."

Rose didn't like the sound of that. The message was made all the more ominous when the Doctor, again, didn't answer. His eyes closed for a moment and he took a deep breath.

"She's awake," she thought she heard him say. "You have to go."

Rose didn't watch Jackie take her leave. Calling up every ounce of strength she could, she used the nearby dresser for leverage and pulled herself to her feet. She noticed then that she was no longer wearing her own clothes, but one of the Doctor's Oxfords. It was a little tight around her chest and the tails fell almost to her knees. But if he thought it would put her at a disadvantage, he had another think coming.

The door opened. He blinked, seeing her clutching the dresser and scowling at him. "Hello, beautiful... What are you doing out of bed?"

"Don't give me that concerned bullshit!" she said angrily, however, she was finding that it took a lot of energy to be angry. "Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"You're sick," he said, gently. "I'll explain later."

"You will NOT fucking explain later! I want an explanation now!" She swayed slightly. Her head was not liking being upright for this long.

He looked at her directly and said in that commanding tone, _"Get into bed."_

Her mind clouded over... but after a moment, clarity returned and she was angrier than ever. A scream of rage filled her chest and exploded at him.

"Well," he said, heaving a slight sigh as though her volcanic eruption hadn't fazed him at all. "I guess I can't tell you what to do anymore." Without another word, he picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to the bed, ignoring her very vocal protests. "You need rest. Stay in bed."

"I don't want to stay in bed!" she yelled at him, trying to fight as he pressed her into the mattress, but there was no strength in her limbs. "I want you to tell me what's happening to me! How do you know the crazy guy who's killing people? And why were you talking to my mother?" She could tell she was running out of steam. No! She wasn't going to lose this way! He was going to tell her the truth, damn it! "I want answers, Doctor!" Fuck, her voice was getting softer. "Right... now!" And she was losing her breath. It seemed to be getting hotter in the room again.

The Doctor backed away from the bed. "Get some rest. I _will_ explain things later, Rose," he said just before closing the door.

"Fuck you!" she said, and picked up the bedside clock to throw it after him, but it was too heavy. "Damn it..." She collapsed on her back. That hadn't gone well. The fifty pound bags of sugar were back, and two of them had attached themselves to her eyelids. Eventually, she could do nothing else but succumb to sleep.

* * *

Reinette looked out of the nearby window again, but the night still looked clear. She sighed, annoyed, sure it was going to be snowing, because Lynda and Christina had managed to find suitable escorts for the evening, although Reinette wouldn't have touched them with an ugly stick, and she was still stuck at the bar on her own. Unheard of!

She glanced at her watch, and shook her head. It was approaching a very tacky hour to be alone at a bar, and she couldn't pretend to be waiting for someone; that just screamed 'Rose.' That was it, time to call in reinforcements, before any more creepy guys tried to send her a drink.

Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a gold cigarette case and opened it. But instead of cigarettes, it held an arsenal of business cards. She looked at the first one, which only had a number printed on a plain white card and brought with it the memory of the last time she'd been alone at a bar. The blond fellow... Harry. As she recalled, he had a certain charm. _He'll do,_ she decided, and dialed the number on her mobile.

"I knew you'd call," Harry's voice growled through the receiver.

"Sure you did," she answered with a smirk. "Up for a drink?"

"Depends," he said. "Who's buying?"

"You are. But you can drink it with me. I think that's a fair trade." On the other end of the line, he laughed, but there was no mirth in it and it made her smile. It wasn't often she met someone who knew how to play the 'cat and mouse' game as well as she did. She mentioned the name of the bar, adding "You coming or not?"

He paused for a moment, as though considering, which irked her a little, but he responded, "I'll be there."

Reinette only had to wait about fifteen minutes before Harry showed, sporting a leather jacket over a plain shirt and trousers, definitely not what she was used to, but not a detriment to his looks, she decided. He spotted her nearly at once and smirked lightly, beginning to meander over, very sure of himself. She almost laughed. In her experience, that sort of cockiness was a trademark of someone who was just dying to follow orders.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.

"You don't sound sorry."

He shrugged. "I'm not, really." He turned to the bartender and ordered a Guinness without waiting for the man to ask him what he wanted, then took a seat on the barstool next to Reinette's.

"You're kidding," she asked, incredulous. "Beer? What are you, a frat boy?"

"One, it’s not beer, it’s Guinness. Two, frat boys can't afford it. And three, we can't all drink Cosmos rimmed in pink sugar and hold our heads up high, your majesty."

She raised an eyebrow. "I like that. You can call me 'your majesty' all night."

He laughed, shortly and again without mirth. "Not likely." He took his drink, the sleeve of his jacket inching up a little. It was only for a moment, but Reinette knew the sight of blood very well.

"You have blood on your wrist, by the way," she said.

"Don't worry, it's not mine," he said, taking a long drink.

"Did I sound worried? My mistake. There's also some in your hair. You might want to consider taking a shower, instead of just washing your hands in a petrol station toilet after your 'business affairs,'" she said sweetly, making little quote marks in the air with her fingers. He was staring at her, the drink forgotten in his hand, as if to say 'what do you know?' She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Relax. When you've swam with the sharks for as long as I have, you're not afraid of a tiny little barracuda. I'm not going to tell anybody your dark, dirty little secrets... Whatever they are."

"Well," he said, setting the glass aside. "I was just going to have a drink and take off, but now I'm intrigued."

"Oh, _now_ I intrigue you?" she asked. "So glad I could serve as your amusement! I've got news for you… You're here at _my_ behest. _My_ amusement. Got that?"

"I don't know who the hell you think you are--"

"I'm _bored._ Why else would I have called you? Last I checked, you were the one who said ‘a beautiful woman might find herself in need of a guy like you.’ Well... I'm in need. What are you going to do about it?"

He looked at her for a moment, a strange light in his eyes, which was odd because the bar was dim. One of his hands reached for her, and his fingers slid through her blonde hair at the back of her neck, tightening as he pulled her towards him. His mouth neared her ear and she heard him growl back in his throat.

"Down boy," she whispered to him. To emphasize, her hand quickly reached between his legs, digging her nails lightly but firmly into his tender appendages. He inhaled sharply, but didn't move otherwise. She had expected him to let go. "Interesting." She smiled, but knew he'd still be the first to release if she just--

An annoying chirping interrupted that chain of thought and Harry growled in frustration, letting go of Reinette's hair and reaching into his shirt pocket to produce his mobile. To her further outrage, he pulled away from her and turned his back to answer it. She couldn't hear much of the conversation, but she was able to tell that it was definitely a woman on the other end of the phone. As if another woman could be more important than her!

"Damn it, Jackie, if he can't take care of the problem, I'll do it myself!" He hung up and turned back to Reinette, his expression very dark. It was an expression she knew well. She frequently used it while thinking about what to do with Pond. "Something's come up. I have to go," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not done with you yet," she said in a low voice.

"Apparently, my business isn't finished."

"I'm your business right now."

"Call it a... family emergency, then."

"If you were one of my employees, I'd make you take a vacation day," she sniffed.

"Well, I'm not. So, deal with it."

"No, you're not. Yet."

"This isn't the time or the place to discuss business."

"I quite agree. Business should be left for the office." She produced a card. "Meet me at mine at ten."

"I'm in bed at ten."

"In the morning?"

"In the morning."

She sighed. "Fine. When's this family emergency expected to be dealt with?"

He shrugged. "Maybe by four this morning."

"Then meet me at five. My secretary isn't due in until six. Don't keep me waiting."

* * *

Rose had that dream again, about going to Gran's, except this time, she actually made it up to the house. In the main hall, Jackie was laying in a bed with a ruffled nightcap on her head and a floral quilt over her.

"Is something the matter, Rose?" she asked with a smile.

It was then she realized that something _was_ wrong. Surrounding the bed were several bodies, all in different states of disembowelment, a growing pool of blood seeping out from under the bed. One of the bodies wasn't quite dead yet, and the man reached a pleading hand out to Rose. She recoiled in disgust as his fingers fell off.

She looked back at Jackie, but suddenly it was the Doctor in the bed, laughing. Horrified, she turned and ran for the door that seemed to get further and further away...

When she woke, the clock she still clutched in one hand read 3:27am. She was freezing and her entire body was covered in cold sweat. In a corner of the room, she saw the Doctor asleep in a chair, covered with a blanket, with his feet on his clothes rack.

She could only think of one thing, _Get out now._

A quiet search yielded her dress, her coat, and her shoes. The dress had a wet splatter near the bottom, but she couldn’t be bothered about vomit at the moment. She pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse, but there were no car keys in it... He had driven them. There was no way she was going to risk waking him up by calling a cab on his home line, so she jammed her feet into her shoes and left as quickly as stealth allowed.

As she hurried down the street, she fished her mobile out of her purse. She sighed in frustration to find it was dead again. Vowing to purchase a new battery, she figured if she kept walking, she could find a payphone somewhere and call a cab. She really hoped she wouldn't have to walk all the way back to her flat. However, the first phone booth she found had a broken phone, the second had gum stuck in the coin receiver, and the third had a couple who were shagging. They told her in no polite terms that they were not leaving anytime soon.

She dug her fingers into her temples as she continued on. Her head was really starting to pound. At least her legs were doing better. In fact, they were walking faster. Wait, why was she walking faster? That prickly feeling was back. Something was wrong. Something was out here somewhere, and it was after her.

Rose hurried down the sidewalk. Her eyes cast about for a public place with lots of safe people milling about. No such luck at a quarter to four in the morning. It was well after last call, and no one was awake for the morning commute yet. The streets were deserted, dark, and foreboding, and the thing chasing her was getting closer.

She wasn't quite sure when the alley wall suddenly rushed up to meet her back, or when the rough hands had grabbed her to hold her there. One moment, she had been almost running down the street, the next, a strange man had shoved her into an alley, one hand at her throat. Looking at him, he was nothing like the psychopath she'd pictured. He shouldn’t have seemed so intimidating, with his platinum blond hair, hazel eyes, and easy, knowing smile, but there was something about him that was just _off._ Rose almost thought that he didn't smell right, but that made no sense to her. She wasn't sure how she knew, but _this_ was the man the Doctor and Jackie had argued about; Harry. The one who had been killing all the innocent people.

"So," he said. "You're the one Theta's been playing with."

She could barely catch a faint scent of ale on his breath. He was sober, or at least under the limit. Rose knew something terrible was about to happen to her. _Do something!_ But what? _You're going to get killed! Do something!_ She had been struggling, but he didn't seem to notice. For a bloke who wasn’t huge, he certainly had considerable strength. Trying to kick wasn't working either. It was like he was anticipating her moves. She didn't have anything she could use as a weapon...

"The whelp cocked up again. Leaving the rest of us to clean up his mess."

The hand that nearly spanned her neck was getting tighter, she was starting to feel his nails digging into her skin. _Rose! Fight back!_

He grinned obscenely at her. "I'm going to enjoy this."

_Fight!_

Her vision went red. Her muscles wound up like a spring and her head darted forward, surprising him, and he lost his grip just for a moment. It was enough. She opened her mouth and bit down on his shoulder, near his neck. She bit hard. On her tongue, she tasted copper and a trickle of blood dripped out of the side of her mouth, but she didn't dare let go. In her rage, she didn't hear him scream. All she heard was his heartbeat, loud and fast, and the deep rumble from her own throat.

When he managed to pry her off of him, he threw her against the wall and staggered back a few paces. She'd barely felt the impact. From the ground, she spat out a mouthful of blood; his. Harry took a step back toward her, his lips curling away from his teeth in a vicious snarl. Why did his teeth suddenly look so much sharper than before?

Before he could take another step, a figure ran into the alley and, without breaking stride, punched Harry in the jaw with a resounding crack. As he reeled back, Rose registered that it was the Doctor who had come to her rescue. But he looked... different. His eyes were feral, flashing fire.

"Keep your hands off her," the Doctor said in a rough voice.

Harry leaned against the alley wall and checked his jaw. "The bitch has teeth," he said.

"She's mine. Stay away from her!"

"Come on, Theta. _She's_ the one you chose? She's nothing!"

"She's _mine!"_

The two men pounced on one another; violent attacks met head-on, no hesitation whatsoever. The Doctor's teeth looked longer, sharper, like Harry's had looked. Their fists darted and slashed through the air at each other; Rose thought briefly of knives, but a second look told her that wasn't true. Instead, it looked as though the nails of their hands had elongated somehow, like claws.

The Doctor came from below and scored a vicious slug to the throat. As Harry fell with a thud to the ground, the Doctor turned fluidly on his heel and picked Rose up by her arms. He pulled her along with him at a dead run down the street. Normally, Rose would have been out of breath running at such a clip. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the self-preservation kicking in, but she wasn't having a problem keeping up with the Doctor as they sprinted side by side. She chose not to question it.

The ominous feeling hadn't gone away. Harry was chasing them. But the Doctor didn't bother to look behind them, as if he knew that he had only bought them a little time. They took several wild turns, but it didn't look like the Doctor was trying to lose him, just gain a slight lead. He didn't let go of Rose's hand as they ran.

Suddenly, he stopped and she ran into him, but he seemed to catch her. He found her mouth with his and kissed her, hard and fast, desperately. As if he wasn't sure he would be able to again. He pulled away from her, grasping her shoulders in both hands.

"Run," he told her, urgently.

She couldn't stop staring at the smear of blood on his lips from when he'd kissed her. "But--"

"Run!" he said, giving her shoulders a shake. "Don't stay at your place. Go somewhere, anywhere. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Run, Rose!"

He shoved her behind him just as Harry came around the corner. Rose didn't stay to find out what happened. She ran.

* * *

Reinette rapped her nails rhythmically against her desk top. "Five in the morning is an ungodly hour to be in an empty office building," she decided, having started talking to herself about ten minutes ago. She looked at the clock on the wall which was steadily ticking toward five-fifteen.

"I told him not to keep me waiting," she said, growing more annoyed as the second hand moved onward. "Why, then, have I been waiting for fifteen minutes? He needs to learn manners. That's good to know. Why do I care? Am I really that bored?" She considered for a moment. "Maybe I am. Matthew will soon be acquired. Rory is just too easy. But this one. This one will be fun to break. A challenge, of sorts. Only, how to do it..." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then reached down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. A crystal carafe of deep red wine and a glass lay waiting for her. "That should do the trick."

The door at the other end of the room opened, and she quickly closed the drawer, looking up. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. He’d been beaten, rather viciously. With absolutely no finesse, either. "You look... less than stellar," she said, dryly. With half a smirk, she added "How was she?"

"Unimpressive and unimportant," he muttered, favoring his left shoulder with his right hand.

"You let unimpressive and unimportant people beat the shit out of you?" She gave him a small half-smile. "That will change."

Harry came closer and sat down in the chair across from the desk, obviously not in the mood or the shape to continue their previous game. "This is your office. This is your office building. You come here to discuss business. What business do we have?"

She waited for a moment, considering. "Do you like wine, Harry?"

"At five in the morning?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This is your bedtime, isn't it? Consider it a nightcap." She opened the drawer and produced the wine and the glass, pouring him a generous amount. She came around to the other side of the desk, sitting on top of it and crossing her long legs in front of him as she handed him the drink. "Your health."

He downed it immediately, all at once, surprising her yet again. _That should have caused an instant effect,_ she thought, but he was still looking at her, perfectly lucid. _What kind of--_ But as she thought it, his head began to sway and the glass fell from his grip as his eyes rolled back in his head slightly. _There it is,_ she thought with satisfaction.

He blinked his eyes and shook his head, placing one hand to his temple. "What _was_ that?” he asked, obviously unused to the reaction.

"What? Can't you handle it?" she asked, sarcastically.

She watched as a fiery light entered his eyes, the same glassy, almost frantic look that she'd seen in Rory so many times, but there was something else, as well. Before she could react, he'd sprung from his chair, his injuries forgotten due to the effects in the wine, and pinned her on her back to her desk.

Reinette only gave him a dark smile. "Oh, no, no," she said. "This won't do."

* * *

Rose splashed some water on her face. The ladies’ toilet in the Southampton airport was crowded and smelled like fag smoke. She barely noticed. There was a buzzing in her ears, which could have been from the flight, but she doubted it. Her nervous system had been working overtime ever since she left the London airport. She caught herself twice walking out of the terminal as fast as she could. As if she was on auto-pilot. And the farther away she went from home, the more nervous she became. As she'd sat just then in the toilet stall, she'd almost burst into tears, because she realized she'd left her glasses behind. And she wasn't upset because she couldn't see. She was upset because she _could._ She apparently didn't need them anymore and she was scared. She was _changing._ But why?

 _Why? Why am I so panicked? I'm going_ away _from the danger!_

She went back to the gate to wait out the remainder of her layover. She sat down near the check-in desk. There weren't a great deal of travelers, but then, it was very early in the morning. She was grateful. She didn't think she could have dealt with an overabundance of screaming children. She glanced at her trembling hands and closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

_Calm down, Rose..._

_I can't calm down! I want my Doctor!_

Opening her eyes, she stood and walked to the enormous windows that made up the wall of the terminal. It would have been pitch black outside, if not for all of the lights, but it had begun snowing earlier and the flakes were coming a bit harder now, making it a little more difficult to see. She hoped that the flight wouldn't be canceled... Or maybe that would be for the best. No one would think to look for her in Southampton.

She tried to see if there were any workmen down on the ground. Would it make her feel all warm and snuggly to see people working outside? Because thus far, she only felt a gaping hole where her heart should be. There should be blokes driving carts and loading luggage, washing the snow off the planes, filling them up with fuel and freezing their arses off... Where were they? Didn't anyone else think it was strange that there didn't appear to be anyone getting the planes ready for takeoff?

Squinting through the snowflakes and pressing her nose to the cold glass, she just managed to see someone walking out from under one of the planes closest to her. Well, at least there was one person who was not on a lunch break. He didn't appear to be doing anything useful, though, just walking along the taxi area. He wasn't even wearing an orange vest. A passenger, then, by himself? She tried to get a closer look and walked along the terminal wall, following him. When he walked underneath another plane, the huge machine blocked the falling snow for just a moment and she caught a look at his profile.

"Doctor?" Of course, he couldn't hear her. She knocked sharply on the glass. "Doctor!"

Still no reaction. He either couldn't hear her, couldn't see her, or was ignoring her. He continued to walk, going to the other side of the plane. She hurried along the terminal, trying to keep up with him.

"Doctor! Doctor!" she yelled, banging on the window as she went. No answer from him. She had to get to him. Maybe the flight attendant would let her through the gate early if she explained what was going on. As she came to the next gate check-in station, she ran to the desk. "Oi!" She stopped. No one was there. She looked up at the terminal. Everyone had disappeared. She was all alone. The emptiness welled up inside of her.

The only thing she could think of was to get to the Doctor. She ran back to the window and frantically looked for him. He was almost out of sight, down near the end of the terminal, where the planes took off. She ran as fast as she could to the end of the window and slammed both her fists on the glass.

"Doctor! Doctor!"

He stopped. As he slowly turned around, a flurry of snow engulfed his small figure... and he was gone.

* * *

"Miss? Miss?"

Rose jolted awake. "No!"

The flight attendant who had been shaking her shoulder snapped her hand back in surprise. "Sorry to startle you, miss," she said, though she was the one who looked startled. "The plane is now boarding."

"What?" Her head snapped around to look out the window. The early morning was completely clear with a bright moon still low in the sky. No snow. She glanced around her and saw passengers and airport staff going about their normal business. _A dream._ Somehow, she felt more alone than ever in the somewhat crowded airport.

"Thank you," she told the confused woman. She stood and shakily shouldered her purse. She forced her legs to move down the walkway. Why was leaving Southampton proving even harder than leaving home? She couldn't help but feel she was moving in the complete opposite way she should be. What was wrong with her?

* * *

If the seats in coach hadn't been so narrow, Rose would have sat on her hands to keep from wringing them. She had tried for half an hour to figure out how to turn the air vent above her off and eventually had to settle for pushing it as far to the right as she could. It felt freezing inside the airplane, but the blankets they provided were too scratchy to use. Her hands were white knuckled as she gripped her red coat tightly around her. Whatever they were showing on the film screen was so bright, even when she closed her eyes the light penetrated through. There was a child behind her, kicking her seat, and a man in front of her snoring like a jackhammer. The crisps the flight attendants served as a snack were cardboard in her mouth and she didn't trust the water. She couldn't get comfortable, no matter what she tried.

One of her legs vibrated nervously up and down as she crossed and uncrossed her arms. She tapped her nails on the armrest then paused and looked at them. Since when was she able to grow nails? She'd never been able to grow anything but short, stubby things that were never long enough for a French manicure. Looking at them now, it looked as though she'd had a manicure every two weeks like clockwork since she was fourteen. She clicked them together. Strong! They wouldn't even bend. She shoved her hands in her pockets, not wanting to look at them.

She inwardly groaned as the man who had the seat next to hers sat back down after his trip to the facilities. Not only did he smell as though he'd bathed in the cheap crappy cologne with the sailboat on it, but his nose whistled and he didn't appear to notice. She began bouncing her other leg, wishing that there had been some empty seats in business class, or even first. It figured that there would only be room in coach.

"Nervous flyer?" the man asked.

She glanced at him. Oh, God. Now he wanted to talk to her. "No. I'm... I'm fine. It's just, um... Nothing. Really."

"My wife was like that."

Was. Past tense. Somehow she didn't think he meant she _was_ a nervous flyer. More like, she _was_ his wife.

"She used to pull the shade down and pretend we were on the ground."

_Please, don't turn me into your surrogate wife for this trip._

"If that didn't work, we would play cards. Would you like to play?"

_Can't you see that I just want to be left alone?_

"I know Hearts, King's Cross, Egyptian Rat's Crew, War..."

While he continued listing the disturbing amount of card games he knew, Rose grit her teeth. She knew he was trying to be helpful to someone he thought was a nervous flyer, but rather than take her mind off of anything, this complete stranger was just causing the empty pit inside of her to grow exponentially. She didn't want to play cards, she didn't want to talk to this man. _I want the Doctor!_

"...we could even take turns playing solitaire, if you want. Anything sound good?" He raised his bushy eyebrows expectantly.

She turned to look at him and instantly regretted it. That smell head-on did nothing for her constant migraine. She looked away and pressed her fingers to her temples. "You know, I really don't like to play cards. I think if I just try and get some sleep, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you might be sick. Should I call the stewardess?"

"Flight attendant," she corrected him automatically, cursing inwardly afterward.

"Right, the flight attendant. I'll call her."

_No! I don't want anyone else asking me stupid questions! I don't even want to be here. I want to go home. I want my Doctor! He could be dead, lying somewhere hurt, with no one to help him, and it would be all my fault! Doctor, please don't be dead!_

_No, Rose! The Doctor is bad! Well, maybe not bad, but he's bad news. Sure, he saved you from the psycho in the alley, but maybe that was just so he could kill you himself. You don't want to go home; it's the last thing you want!_

_Then why do I feel so empty inside?_

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the busty blond with the eighties hairstyle.

"Yes, can we get a few more sick bags over in this aisle?" he said, loudly, at least to Rose's ears. "She's feeling like she might be ill."

"I see." The woman smiled condescendingly at Rose. "If you like, we can move you closer to the toilets, ma'am."

The last thing she needed was to listen to the people joining the mile high club. Actually, the last thing she needed was people like this, assuming things about her when all she wanted was to be left alone. No, she didn't want to be alone... But she didn't want them. Couldn't they see that? Wasn't it obvious?

_Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots. You have no idea what I need, do you? Can't you leave me alone? I wasn't bothering anyone..._

_Just tell them._

The commanding voice in her head was her own, but she'd never heard herself sound like that before. It startled her out of her mental tirade.

_Tell them, Rose._

She looked directly at the man sitting next to her, then at the flight attendant, her gaze narrowing to just the two of them.

_"Leave... me... alone."_

The woman's smile faded from her face. She turned immediately and went back to the galley. Simultaneously, the man unbuckled his seatbelt, got up, and moved to another seat.

Rose covered her mouth with one hand in shock. That commanding tone really had come from her, and it had really worked! She wasn't sure whether to feel excited or scared. _Does this mean I can get people to do whatever I want, like the Doctor does? Wait, how did I do it?_

The child behind her kicked the seat again. Her lip curling, she looked between the crack in the seats and snarled at him. He gasped, snapping his legs back to his chest. She glared. _Don't let it happen again._ Slowly, his legs went back to the floor.

Rose turned back around. _Now, I'm terrorizing children... Just what am I turning into?_

For the remainder of the flight, Rose tried to get some sleep, but spent the majority just keeping her eyes closed. Sleep was about as elusive as comfort.


	8. Chapter 8

That morning, Clara was just stepping out of the shower when the theme from _Titanic_ came tweeting from her purse.

 _Oh, God,_ she thought as she glanced at her clock which read 5:31am. _There are only two reasons why they'd be calling me this early. Either they are going to the office early to do their own work for once, which is highly unlikely, or... they haven't gone to bed yet._

With reluctance, she picked up the pink phone. "Clara Oswald."

"Clara!" came Lynda's high pitched voice that always seemed to end in an exclamation. "You need to come pick me up!"

"What? What about Rose? Why the hell hasn't she picked you up already?"

"You think I haven't been trying to get a hold of her? She's not picking up her mobile! Come on," she wheedled, making her voice, if possible, even whinier. "You did it for Christina! Come and pick me up! Oh, but don't pick me up in that piece of crap you drive, I hate that fucking car. Go down to the office and pick up a company car--"

"I'm already going to the office; I have to be there for work in a half hour! I don't have time to come pick you up." Clara figured this was bullet-proof. Even Lynda knew how Reinette was about her assistant being on time, she wouldn't dare--

"Oh, I'll make Reinette _understand,_ " said Lynda. "Now, belt up and come get me! I really don't want to be stuck here any longer than I have to--"

"Fine!" said Clara, really not wanting to argue with her anymore. "Where are you?" _If she says she's at Adam's, I'm going to rip her larynx out..._

"Um... I really don't know."

"WHAT? What does that even mean?"

"I'll find out! _God,_ Clara, there's no need to be such a bitch!"

As Lynda went to get directions from whomever she had spent the night with, Clara took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to maintain. She really didn't want to lose her voice again by screaming 'bitch' into the phone.

It was nearing six in the morning, the time Clara was supposed to be at her desk, when she picked Lynda up from the flat of some bloke who, fortunately for Lynda, Clara didn't know. She hadn't had time to put on a stitch of make-up or dry her hair, let alone style it. How Lynda managed to look so perfect even though she'd probably not had much sleep, Clara had no bloody clue.

The thin, petite blonde stretched out in the back seat of the borrowed company town car with a contented smile, not bothering to thank Clara for picking her up. _No, don't worry about it,_ she thought, sarcastically. _And don't bother with a seatbelt either, I'll make sure to drive_ really _safely._ As she looked in the rear-view mirror at her passenger, she noticed that the light on Lynda's vibrantly purple mobile was blinking.

"I think your mobile's got a message, Lynda," she said.

In response, Lynda threw the phone in the front seat, narrowly missing Clara's head.

"You're the secretary, you answer it."

Resisting the urge to chuck the phone right back her, Clara grit her teeth and pressed the 'missed calls' feature.

Rose's voice came through the speaker. "Lynda, this is Rose. Tell my boss I'm going to be out a little longer. I'm going up to Gran's house for a while." _Click._

Clara furrowed her brow. Gran's house? Wasn't that way up North, near Sunderland, somewhere? Yes... in Bothal, AKA the middle of no where. She looked at the little screen; the call was made early this morning. _Pretty sudden decision... I wonder what's going on?_

"Well?" asked Lynda.

"Uh, it was Rose," said Clara. "She says she's going up to your grandmother's house for a while."

Lynda made a rude noise through her nose. "So, that's where she's disappeared to."

"Don't you wonder what she's gone up there for?"

"No, I don't care. She should have thought about what we were doing before just taking off like that. That was so rude of her!" Lynda raised her head slightly and lifted an eyebrow at the back of Clara's head. "Aren't you mad at her? I mean, I wouldn't have had to call you if she had been home, you know."

Clara recognized a Lynda baiting tactic and instantly denied it. "No, I'm sure she had a good reason." She would never give Lynda any ammunition to use against her friendship with Rose.

After she'd dropped Lynda off at her upscale flat, to change and get some sleep and throw up her breakfast, it was after six-thirty. Clara returned the company car and started toward the office. If it had been any other reason but Lynda as to why she was late, she could have pulled in some favors, had everyone lie for her, and say she was on time. But since Lynda would be sure and tell Reinette, the she-beast would take great pleasure in making Clara work an extra thirty minutes tonight.

 _She usually does that anyway, but when she feels she's justified, I can't bitch about it,_ thought Clara, bitterly.

A crumpled figure at the entrance to the building stopped her in her tracks. _Oh, no,_ she thought, thinking that some homeless must have had a fight last night. The poor guy looked in really bad shape; he was still bleeding in some places. She hurried over, getting out a mobile to call an ambulance.

"Hey, mister, are you oka-- _Doctor?"_ Sure enough, her favorite goofy waiter was sitting by the doors, bruised and bleeding. His brown suit was looking pretty worse for wear as well. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked as she helped him gingerly to his feet.

"Um... I fell." It looked like it was painful for him to even speak. He couldn’t even straighten up all the way, he stayed slightly hunched over, carefully clutching his ribs.

"Into what? A vat of knives?"

"No, I fell... at work. Some dishes fell on me."

"And they beat you up for that?"

"No!" He coughed rather violently. "Look, it doesn't matter... I need to find Rose."

"You don't know where she is? Wasn't she with you last night?"

"Yeah. Do you know where she went?"

Clara hesitated. She was getting the feeling that she probably shouldn't tell the Doctor where Rose was. She knew that Rose hadn't been up to Gran's place since she'd died, she'd been with the Doctor last night and now he had no idea where she was, and Rose had probably decided to go to Gran's right after leaving the Doctor. Only one solution made sense: Rose was hiding. And she was hiding in the one place she thought was really safe.

"Clara," the Doctor said, urgency rising in his voice along with a certain ferocity. "Do you know where Rose is?"

"Um... I don't think Rose really wants to see you right now, Doctor," she said.

"Probably not," he agreed. "But it is _really_ important that I tell her something. If you know where she went, please, Clara, you _have_ to tell me."

Her eyes went wide. "You didn't give her... you know... an STD, did you?" Her eyes then narrowed. "Because if you have, so help me--"

"It's not what you're thinking," he said, though he didn't quite meet her eyes. He took her hands in his cut up ones and looked up at her, desperation plain to see. "Please, Clara. _Please._ I love her."

She blinked. "Doctor... You've known each other for, what... a few days?"

He nodded, clutching her hands tightly. "I know, I know. It sounds stupid, but it's true, I swear on my life. When you know it, then you know, right? And I have to tell her. Even if she never wants to see me again, I have to tell her."

Her resolve was wavering. _No! You don't want to believe that men are sweet! The Doctor may be nice, but he's still a bloke. And sure, Matt Ellef may be nice and sweet and cute-- Stop it! He's a bloke! And you can't trust any of them as far as you can throw them!_ Her internal monologue sounded convinced, but as she looked at the Doctor, quite obviously in a great deal of pain and only thinking of Rose and not himself, she wasn't sure how much longer that argument would hold out. _Don't look at the puppy eyes, don't look at the big, brown, puppy eyes... Oh, fuck... I'm so going to pay for this..._

"All right," she said, relenting. "Rose called her sister really early this morning and said she was going to their grandmother's house in Bothal.”

The Doctor furrowed his brow. “Where’s that?”

“About an hour north of Sunderland. I can give you the address. If she got her tickets online, she might be on a flight anytime between an hour ago and this evening. Because the tickets were last minute, she'll probably have to switch planes at least two, if not, three times. But because it's Sunday, I doubt you'll be able to find any tickets this late until tomorrow..."

At his defeated expression, she sighed and pulled a pen out of her purse, along with some leftover clearance papers from checking out the car this morning. She hastily scribbled on one of them, including the address to the house in Bothal in one corner. "I could get in a lot of trouble because of this... Take this next door. It will give you clearance to use the company jet.”

His eyes widened. “You can do this?”

“I’m Reinette’s assistant. I have clearance to check out whatever she needs. Just pray no one else needs the jet this morning. Flying non-stop, you might get there before her. It's a one-way thing,” she explained hastily. "They will drop you off, no return trip. Is that okay?"

He nodded, his face strangely resigned. "Perfect." He reached for the paper, but she held it away, eyes narrowing again.

"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you."

He gave her a sad smile. "If I hurt her, and I'm still alive, I will hand you the gun myself."

Satisfied with that, she handed over the paper and watched him limp away.

Clara glanced at her watch. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit in a teaspoon!" she exclaimed in an undertone as she rushed into the office. Running into the Doctor had made her even later than she was already. She plunked her purse on the desk and began turning on the computer. She pushed the flashing button on the office's answering machine.

_Clara, this is Rory. I'm really sorry, but tell Reinette I'm sick. I'm not coming in today. I'll owe you lunch, okay? And dinner. See you tomorrow._

Clara's eyes widened to twice their normal size. Rory, calling in? That was unheard of. Reinette was NOT going to like this. But at least she had a few hours to come up with an excuse. "Thank God they're never here on time--"

"Clara!"

 _Fuck._ Clara turned to look at the door to Reinette's office. _The one day, the ONE day she comes in on time..._

Only Reinette's head and one bare shoulder were visible to Clara through the partially open door, but the look on her face was still enough to terrify. "You're late," she said, unnecessarily. "Forty-eight minutes late, to be exact."

"I'm really sorry," said Clara, already knowing it was useless. "I had to pick up Lynda--"

"Are you Lynda's secretary? No, you're MINE, Clara! And I pay MY secretary to be here on time!"

"I'll try not to let it happen again."

"You're bloody right you won't. Now, go to my town house and get me my emerald Chanel suit and matching Jimmy Choo shoes. And take off those clod hoppers you wear before you go in, I don't want any filth on my floor! Then, go get me my coffee and you'd better be back in an hour!"

Reinette closed the office door and turned back to her desk chair, where Harry was nicely trussed up in extension cords from the supply closet. "Now…" she said with a smile as she sauntered back to him, totally naked. "Who do you want?"

* * *

Amy’s favorite dream, of being awakened by Rory’s kisses, in no way lived up to the real thing. Only the reality brought with it, along with the light touch of his lips on the soft, warm flesh of her neck that sent tiny electric shocks up to her not-even-ready-to-wake-up brain, the smell of pork.

 _Why does my favorite dream smell like pork?_ was her first thought, followed by: _It's way too early to think about that._ Her third thought, as the sensations continued and began to increase in fervor, was, _Maybe I don't mind so much..._

"I now understand why you are continuously late for work," Rory purred against her ear, his breath tickling as much as it tantalized. "You sleep more deeply than anyone I have ever met."

"It's a gift." She kept her eyes shut, half out of defiance to the morning, and half to take in the barrage of pleasure Rory was raining down on her. She could feel his bare chest rubbing against her upper back, just below the nape of her neck. His hips were grinding against her legs, the movement too deliberate to be instinctive. More than that, she felt the biggest erection pressing against her arse and she sighed deeply.

"Ahhh... There's nothing like a romp through the morning wood," she said, laughing nervously. Rory stopped for a moment, considered, and then laughed along with her.

"That would be absolutely fantastic, I have to agree," he said, between light kisses along her spine which caused Amy to squirm deliciously against him.

"But I guess you have to get to work," she said after a moment, disappointment creeping into her tone.

"No."

She blinked. "No?"

"Remember?" he said, craning his neck over her shoulder to look at her, blue eyes flashing mischievously. "You said that if I stayed, I'd be calling into work today. I've already called Clara's phone at work."

Amy rolled over to look at him fully in stunned disbelief. Rory Williams just called in to work... for her? A wide grin lit up her face as she threw her arms around his neck. "Rory! I think you just got your balls back!"

He buried his face against her shoulder for a moment, trying not to laugh. "You really think so?”

"Well, I didn't say they'd been reattached or anything..." She leaned up and kissed him playfully. "I think maybe you're just holding onto them." She kissed him again, for a bit longer this time. "Mmmm... Or maybe I should check and make sure..." Amy ran her fingers from his chest, down his stomach, which caused him to giggle and then hastily try and cover it up. She quirked one eyebrow. "Sensitive stomach?" she asked.

"Maybe a little," he admitted, sheepishly.

She gave a small wicked smile. "Oh, I see definite possibilities in this." However, her smile turned into a frown as her nostrils flared. "Is something burning?" The pork smell she'd almost forgotten or maybe had been ignoring was changing into a slight charcoal aroma.

Rory's eyes widened and he leapt from the bed. "The bacon!" he exclaimed. She was afforded a momentarily stunning view of his well-sculpted backside as he ran down the hall toward the kitchen. He returned in a few minutes with a large tray, full of food.

Amy sat up. "You made me breakfast?"

"I hope you don't mind," he said, placing the tray next to her. "The bacon's a little... crisp."

The man boggled her senses. "Mind? My kitchen hasn't seen food since I moved in here! Did you not see the overabundance of take away cartons in the fridge? You defrosted arctic bacon for me and then tried to cook it! I'm overjoyed! Now, get in this bed and feed me, damn it, and then fuck the hell out of me!"

And she wasn't sure, but just before he moved to do her bidding, she thought she saw his cheeks turn pink a little. That was worth any amount of crisp bacon. Just as he was lifting a forkful of eggs and cheese to her lips, however, the phone rang.

"Ugh," sighed Amy in mild frustration. "Just ignore it. It's only Clara calling to tell me how late I am for work."

The phone rang five times before the message machine picked up.

 _The answer phone will be your subsitute friend while I am asleep. Bye!_ Beeeeeep.

"Where are you?" came Clara's panicked voice from the machine. "I know you're always late, but you can't be late today! Reinette's not even late today! She was early! EARLY, Amy! You know what this means! The world is coming to an end! The universe is imploding! Oh, my God, I can't breathe!" Her message dissolved into hyperventilating for a few moments.

"She sounds really upset," said Rory. "Maybe you should pick up."

"Nah," said Amy. "She does something like this every morning. Although Reinette being early is a new one..."

The heavy breathing continued for another few seconds. "Is it wrong that I'm kind of turned on?" asked Rory.

“Yes.” Amy thwacked him in the arm as Clara resumed talking.

"Okay, okay, I can breathe..." Clara took one more deep breath. "All I have to say to you is, where is Rory's body because you must have killed him. Or you brainwashed him. Either way, his body isn't where it's supposed to be and it needs to be here!"

She pushed Rory onto his back, climbing on top of him. "Would you consider this killing or brainwashing you?" she asked, conversationally.

"I might need a few minutes to think about that one," answered Rory.

"Come on, Amy, I need you to wake up now," continued Clara. "Please, Amy! I'm asking you, I'm begging you, please answer your phone! Get up and get to the phone, get up, get up, up, up, up!"

Amy grinned down at Rory. "You heard the woman, come on, submissive boy, get up, chop chop!" she said, clapping her hands for emphasis.

"That is so wrong," he said, shaking his head.

"Shut it, you get off on it."

Completely unaware of what was going on at that end of the phone, Clara went on. "At least answer the phone and tell me what's going on, because I am utterly confused! Reinette's here early, Rory's _not_ here, the Doctor looks like he got beat with the same bat Rory got beat with, you know, the kind with wings and teeth, and Rose is gone again, but I loaned the Doctor the company jet and--"

Ceasing to listen after that almost nonsensical tidbit of knowledge, Amy looked at Rory, shock in her eyes as her smile quickly faded. "Just a minute." She very regrettably climbed down from her perch and stumbled to the phone. "What is this about loaning the Doctor the company jet?" she said into the receiver without preamble.

"Good morning to you, too!" said Clara. "Where is Rory? And why are you not at work? And why _is_ Reinette at work? What the hell is going on!"

"Stop yelling at me, you're going to give yourself another panic attack!"

"Too late! About an hour too late!"

"Calm down before I kill you."

"You'd have to be at work to do that."

"I'll go into work to do it and then I'll leave. Why did you loan the Doctor the company jet? Let's think about this for a minute... You handed a several million dollar piece of machinery to a waiter? That's one hell of a tip, Clara!"

"I had to! He had the puppy eyes!"

Amy paused. Clara was making less sense as this conversation went on. "What?"

"They were there, and he had them, and he was looking at me, and... I gave him the jet."

"...You need Thorazine!"

"You didn't see the puppy eyes! It was like this big sad puppy was looking at me, begging me for food! I couldn't say no to the puppy eyes, he restored my faith in men for a moment!"

"You're psychotic!" Amy took a deep breath. "Okay, puppy eyes aside... WHY did you give it to him?"

"He couldn't find Rose."

"He knows where she lives! Doesn't he have her number?"

"She left last night for Bothal!"

"What? Okay, you're definitely not making any sense."

"I _know!"_ said Clara, only steps away from beginning to wail, and Amy knew that once she got started, she wouldn't stop.

"Okay, okay," she said, attempting to be calm. "Why don't you meet me at the Tardis and you can explain everything over ice cream. You like ice cream, ice cream will make it allllll better..."

"We can't go to the Tardis, the Doctor isn't there! They beat him up! Weren't you listening?"

"Who's _they?"_

"I don't know! Something about dishes and a vat of knives... He got beat up, okay?"

"You do realize that there are other waiters at the Tardis, right?" She shook her head, holding the phone away from her ear for a moment and taking another deep breath. One of them had to be sane for this conversation to continue and it was still way too early in the morning for it to be Amy. "Look, I can't deal with you when you're not making any sense. Do you realize what I'm giving up right now by talking to you? Amazing abs! Hot fudge sundae! It will be mine!"

There was a pause as Clara presumably added things up. "Oh, please not today," she begged. "Please Amy, for the love of God and all things holy... Not today! The devil doesn't like it when you play with her toys, she gets angry! Any other day but today! As your friend, I'm begging you... Please send Rory to work!"

Amy paused, considering. "After I'm done with him," she said and hung up. Clara damn well owed her that much.

"After you're done with me?" asked Rory as she came back to the bedroom.

"It won't happen today," said Amy. "I have way too many wonderful fantasies running around in my head for me to be through with you all in one day. But I'll settle for a few before I send you off."

Rory smiled. "Well, what first?"

"First," she said, imperiously. "You need to get up, find your clothes, and go get me some more ice cream."

"Where are my clothes?"

"I've hidden them in strategic places around the room."

He got up and started by checking under the bed... pulling the clothing out a moment later. "Um... I've found them," he said, a slightly confused look on his face.

"Okay, so I'm not very strategic." She hopped back up on the bed and popped a piece of only semi-burnt bacon in her mouth. "Well, go on! I'll be waiting."

* * *

As Clara unlocked the door to Reinette’s posh flat and stepped inside, she felt that there really ought to be a sign that read ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter.’ She slipped out of her shoes and climbed the stairs to find the bedroom. She rolled her eyes in disgust at the four-poster bed that probably cost more than a month’s worth of Clara’s salary and resisted the urge to touch the luxurious-looking sheets that were probably Egyptian cotton.

One wall was entirely comprised of closet doors and she groaned. She opened them one after the other, relieved that the clothing seemed to be arranged according to color. Finding the suit was easy once she located the ‘green’ section. The shoes were more difficult, as Reinette had a fancy rotating shoe rack that Clara had to send through several rotations before she could find what she was looking for.

Lastly, she went to the Louis XIV dresser to find appropriate lingerie. When she opened the top drawer, she nearly swallowed her tongue.

A jumble of leather and chains met Clara’s saucer-wide eyes. Aside from the handcuffs, she wasn’t even sure what most of it could even be used for. Suddenly, Reinette was even more terrifying than usual and she slammed the drawer shut, turned tail, and almost ran from the room. Reinette had only asked for the suit and shoes, after all. Finding underwear for her boss was a lot less important than putting as much distance between herself and that horrifying arsenal of gear.

As she jammed her feet back into her shoes and left the flat, it was quite apparent that Rory wasn’t having the occasional run-in with small, flying mammals. And although she knew that Reinette would make her work even harder today since her second assistant was ‘sick,’ Clara was glad to give her friend the break he obviously deserved with Amy.

* * *

Trepidation kept Rose’s stomach turning flip-flops as she forced herself up the walk to Gran's house. With her red coat clutched around her, dragging her suitcase behind her, the scenario was way too similar to her dreams. She glanced at the three trees near the end of the drive and shuddered. Those would be cut down, or at least transplanted very far away as soon as possible.

The house was now a shadow of its former cheerful self. The white paint was peeling and the blue shutters had faded. The bars Rose had installed on the lower level windows right after Gran's death gave the house a forbidding look. She always said that if she ever moved into the house, she'd have them removed, but while it was empty, they were needed to keep troublemakers out. The gardener she paid to visit once a month had kept the garden from growing over by mowing everything down, but it just made her feel sad, remembering how much Gran had loved her flowers.

She sighed and somehow made it up the drive. She unlocked the door and tugged her suitcase inside. The wheels rolled loudly across the hardwood floor. She flicked the switch near the door and the old chandelier above the main hall blinked to life. At least she'd had the foresight to call the electric company before leaving home. In a place as old as this, candles were a major fire hazard. Now, she just had to call the water company and she could have a nice hot shower. Shit... She forgot to call the phone company. Well, she supposed a shower could wait until she could charge her mobile.

The inside of the house looked nothing like the inviting place of her childhood memories. Every piece of furniture had been covered by huge white cloths, which were then covered by a thick layer of dust. Large, dusty ghosts, lying forgotten in the giant mausoleum of a house. At least there weren't any bodies. Rose shook that thought away. She really didn't need to remember that dream. Though it was actually kind of funny, looking back on it now. She wondered how her brain could have been so addled that she really had thought that the woman the Doctor had been talking to was her mum. But she didn't want to think about that conversation now, or that woman, or the Doctor. Especially not the Doctor. Thinking about the Doctor made her ache.

Looking at the sweeping staircase at the foot of the hall, she wondered how she could get her suitcase to one of the bedrooms without breaking her back. She decided to leave it for now, took the few food items she had bought at the airport out of her purse, and headed for the kitchen. As soon as she could, she'd head out to the grocery a couple of miles away and get some steaks. She was about ready to kill for some red meat... Bad choice of phrase. Although, she'd have to call the gas company before she could cook them... 

"You really shouldn't have told your sister where you were going."

She stopped cold in the middle of the hallway. The tea tin and box of crisps fell from her nerveless hands.

"She told Clara. And Clara told me."

 _He's alive!_ Her spirit soared as the gaping emptiness that had only been growing larger by the mile filled with a euphoric happiness and sheer relief. She began to run back to the main hall... then skidded to a halt. _Shit... He's here to kill me!_

"It's a lonely, fucking existence, Rose."

She looked behind her. The back door in the kitchen was closer than the front door. She made for the kitchen.

"Right, who am I talking about, you or me? That's how I knew."

She darted around the kitchen's island and yanked on the back door's handle.

"I knew you'd understand. We could help each other."

Locked. And the door was one of those that required a key from both sides. She heard a creak and a distinct grunt echoing above her. He was climbing out of one of the beds upstairs. How the hell had he gotten here before her? And why wasn't he down here, waiting for her, weapon of choice in hand? _That doesn't matter right now, Rose. In case you've forgotten, he's going to kill you!_

"I was told you could prove a problem."

The mention of the woman who’d told him to get rid of her spurred her back into action. She dove into her coat pockets, her jeans pockets, looking for her keys. Empty.

"God, I hate it when that bitch is right."

She'd left her keys in the front door when she came in. _Fuck!_ She ran out of the kitchen.

"But if people ask too many questions... And I don't know if I can help all I should, either."

She was halfway down the hall when she saw his shadow fall across the staircase. Her gaze flitted from the slow-moving shadow to the keys still dangling from the door. She couldn't get the keys now, he'd see her. If he had a gun, she'd be walking right into the line of fire. _What now?_

"You're changing. I have to accept responsibility for that."

She backed down the hall. Locking herself inside a room wouldn't do any good. These old doors could be easily kicked in.

"You know that now. Change in appetite was a dead giveaway. Biting Harry, that took guts."

His shadow stopped halfway down the staircase as he began coughing. She paused. Was he sick? His arm was leaning on the banister closest to her. She didn't realize she was moving closer to him. When he began moving again, she noticed his gait was not just slow, but uneven. He was limping, and rather badly.

"The others won't help. They won't even deal with Harry. Or they can't. So, now... Either take responsibility, or get rid of the problem."

It was then she heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet sliding into a chamber. _Click._ And the chamber flicking shut. _Snap._

_What the FUCK am I DOING?_

She whirled around and ran back into the kitchen. Her eyes darted around. No knives, not even a rolling pin with which she could defend herself. Why would there be? No one had lived here in years. Wait... There was always a spare key to the back door hidden somewhere. If she could just find it in time...

"I took away your choice, Rose. I'm sorry. When I saw how lonely you were, I just forced this on you. I didn't stop to think about whether or not you wanted me, or a change of any kind. There's only one way to stop it now."

Nothing in the drawers.

"I can't let you go through it alone. I won't."

Nothing under the mat.

"I won't let you suffer like I did!"

She reached up on her tip-toes and felt along the top moulding of the door. Nothing. But one small space had no dust. He’d taken the key from inside when he came in. And she was trapped.

"So, I was lonely. You were, too. Did you feel it again, Rose? The loneliness. Hurts like hell, doesn't it? Like you're hollow inside."

She had to hide. Maybe it would buy her a little time. Maybe she could talk him into not killing her. _Please, don't kill me, Doctor... I love you?... I'm pregnant?... You'll get blood all over my Gran's floor and that's such a bitch to clean?..._ Nothing sounded right. Or plausible.

"I tried to think of another way, believe me. This isn't an end I particularly relish, but it's the only thing I can do now."

Maybe she'd be saved by a sudden burst of inspiration brought on by having a gun pointed at her head. She ducked inside the walk-in pantry just as the Doctor limped into the kitchen. The white louver doors didn't even have doorknobs on the inside, let alone a lock. No trapdoors here, no attic crawl-space... She was dead.

The Doctor's shadow fell through the slats in the doors. He coughed again, but it might have been an attempt at a laugh. She braced her hands on the shelves behind her to keep her knees from giving out. She watched as his hand came up and reached for the knob of one of the doors.

"Hello, beautiful."

She bit back her first instinct, which was to scream. It would have done her no good. However, she couldn't think of anything to say except, "You look like shit."

There were cuts all over his hands and on his face. He had a black eye, his jaw was badly bruised, he was hunched over slightly, hinting at some rib damage, and he favored his left leg. His tie was missing and his shirt was open at the collar, showing the tops of four deep gashes across his chest. Granted, all of these looked as though they were healing, but he also looked to be in a great deal of pain. No wonder his monologue had sounded so disjointed. He was probably on a ton of painkillers just to be able to stand up.

"There's only one way stop the change, Rose," he said again, as if she hadn't spoken. He shifted something grey and metallic from his left hand to his right.

She tensed and squeezed her eyes shut, her hands curling into fists. _This is it! Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry..._ Exactly how does one keep their composure when they're about to be shot in their grandmother's pantry?

"Rose."

She ventured one eye open and saw that he was extending the gun to her, handle first. He was handing it to her. Tentatively, she took it in one trembling hand. It was cold and surprisingly heavy.

"To reverse the process once it’s begun, you, personally, have to kill the one who did it to you." He took hold of the barrel and centered it at his chest. "Aim for the heart, I'd rather this be quick."

She took a shuddering breath. Why was she hesitating? This was the answer. Sure, it sounded crazy, but most of the things she'd seen in the last few days would fall under that category, too. If what he was saying was true, she could just go back to her normal life and never have to worry about all this again.

Her normal life. Living alone in her flat, putting up with the three bitches on a daily basis, a dead-end job she hated, one-night-stands with countless knobs; a boring, beans-on-toast life. Sure, if she _didn't_ shoot him she'd still have to deal with most of that, but... She looked up from the gun to his face, his eyes. Those deep brown eyes, filled with such sadness. If she didn't shoot, the Doctor would be there with her. No more meaningless relationships. No more living alone.

Craving raw meat. Snarling. Killing people...

She tightened her grip on the gun. The price was probably too high. She was talking about changing her whole life. She knew herself too well, she couldn't do it. Stability was good. There was comfort in monotony. It was safe, she knew it, was comfortable with it. _But..._ She chanced a glance up at him again. Did she want what she knew, or did she want the Doctor?

"I love you."

"FUCK!" She lowered the gun and scowled. "If you want me to kill you so bad, why did you have to say something like that?"

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "I just... thought you should know. And... I don't _really_ want to die."

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "Damn it, Doctor..."

"I figured if you were taking that long to make a decision--"

"Shut it, I still might kill you."

He waited. "Are you going to?"

She pursed her lips. "No, damn it." She snapped open the chamber and emptied it, then set the gun and the bullet on a shelf. "You men are so egotistical. You think this is all about me changing, or some great sex?” She paused. “Some _really_ great sex.” She shook her head. “Did you ever stop to think that I might be lonely just without _you?"_

"...No."

“Idiot. All this time, you keep saying 'you're mine, you're mine.' Well, I've got news for you, Doctor,” she said, pointing a finger at his nose. “I may be yours, but _you_ belong to _me_!"

And although it must have really hurt his jaw, a huge goofy grin lit up his face as he wrapped his arms around her. She couldn't help it; she snuggled warmly into his embrace... before remembering his injuries. She attempted to pull away.

"I don't want to hurt you..."

He held her tighter. "It's worth it. I'll heal."

After a pause, she bit her lip. "This change... Will it hurt?"

He cringed slightly. "...Yeah. There will be times when you'll sleep for days, others when it'll be all you can do to curl up in a ball and just maintain. You'll think you're losing your mind... and you may. But I'll be with you. I'll do what I can to help. We'll have to stay away from London. It's going to take a while."

"I'll have to quit my job?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God."

"I'll have to quit mine, too."

She wasn't sure how long they held each other like that before she lifted her head again. "Hey."

"What?"

"I love you, too."

He laughed, which then turned into a cough, making her wonder again the extent of his injuries. "That's a relief, because we're going to be together for a very long time."

"Very few creatures on this earth mate for life, eh?"

"That's right. Swans, beavers, pigeons--"

"And us?"

"And us," he repeated.

* * *

 _This is Clara. I've installed a new answer phone so people can't call me at three-thirty in the morning anymore. In case you didn't know, normal people sleep during this time, and leave their earth-shattering, soul-bending crises until a more decent hour. Leave a message. I'll get back to you when I'm awake._ Beeeeeeeep.

"Very funny, Clara. This is Rose. I'm kind of going through some things, so I'm going away for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Don't worry; I've got someone here with me. Please tell Amy for me, I couldn't get a hold of her. Lynda will find out soon enough since I quit my job. Sorry if you end up being the one who drives her and the others around while I'm gone. Call it payback for telling the Doctor where I was. Thanks, by the way. I'll call you when I get back." _Click._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes written in all Italics are flashbacks.

_“Listen up, boy. Things are different for you now and if you’re going to run with us, there are rules you have to follow... Are you paying attention?”_

_“Yes... yes.” Theta’s voice sounded vague and uncertain to his own ears._

_“Let’s hope so. Now... What do you remember about the last three weeks?”_

_“Not much. Running... Wind... Cows... People chasing me...” He paused, confused. “Cows?”_

_“You’re one of the lucky ones. The others she turned didn’t recover their minds after they lost them. Looks like you have... Mostly. You might still slip in and out of lucid moments for another month or so.”_

_“How many... recovered from this?”_

_“Including you? Two.”_

_“What happened to the others?”_

_“They lost their minds, Theta. You don’t allow a rabid animal to run around, unchecked, for too long... You have to put it down. It’s kinder, rather than letting them live that way and endanger everyone around them.”_

_“You killed them?”_

_“No. She made them. She took them down.”_

_Theta shuddered. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder._

_“Trust me, boy. It’s a mercy.”_

* * *

The Doctor entered the large house, arms full of shopping bags, and kicked the front door shut. Immediately, his eyes went to the top of the staircase.

“Rose? I’m back! You awake?”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear water running and figured she must be in the shower. He smiled. If she had enough energy for a shower, then chances were she was lucid enough for some sexy time. He hurried into the kitchen to shove the perishable food into the refrigerator, leaving the rest of the shopping strewn across the floor, which he nearly tripped over in the rush to get upstairs.

He threw off his jacket, hastily loosened his tie and tugged it over his head, then struggled with the buttons of his Oxford. The sound of Rose’s laughter drifted out to him and his legs got tangled in his trousers, resulting in a painful fall to the floor. It hardly phased him, however, he was up in a moment, and going to the door of the ensuite in only his pants.

“Hello, beautif--” He stopped, mid-greeting, as he opened the door, his eyes widening in horror as he saw Rose standing at the sink, her arms covered in blood. She was laughing as she clawed into her own flesh and watched the red liquid swirl down the drain. “What are you _doing?”_

Rose only laughed. “Doctor! C’mere! Look! It’s funny!”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her away from the sink. “Stop that!”

She whined, twisting in his grasp. “Aw, let me go! Look, it’s going down the drain, don’t you think that’s funny?” She laughed again, but then as she looked down at her bleeding arms, her laughter faded and the glassy look in her eyes turned to sudden clarity. “What the FUCK am I DOING?” she screamed.

“Rose, I’m here,” said the Doctor, trying to keep calm for her sake, though his hands were shaking as he guided her over to the toilet to sit down. “Come here, sit down...”

“What’s happening? Why am I bleeding?”

“You don’t remember. This isn’t the first time you’ve torn your arms open.” He retrieved bandages and antibiotic cream from the cabinet above the sink, then crouched before her to bind her arms.

As he worked, quickly and efficiently, Rose closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “I don’t like this,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to shoot you.”

“Little late for that. Just hold still. Try the focusing exercise.”

She frowned, sulking. “It doesn’t work, Dr. Freud.”

“Maybe not. But I love you and I don’t want you to hurt yourself, no matter how funny you think it is.” He sighed. “Remember, you have to try to breathe through it. Focus on something small.”

“Like your brain?”

He glared at her for a moment before looking back down at her arms. “I’m trying to _help_ you, you know.”

Rose grit her teeth. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just...” She sighed.

“I know.” He finished his work and gently took her hands to help her up. “Breathe.”

She stood, taking a deep breath. She leaned into him, nuzzling her nose against his collarbone. “Mmm... You smell nice.” Her voice had gone low, seductive. “You smell like... meat.”

He closed his eyes briefly as he wrapped his arms around her. Just like that, her lucid moment was gone. “I did some shopping. Breathe.”

Obediently, Rose took another breath. “I’ve been waiting allll day for you to come home,” she said, looking up at him with a cheeky smile. “Don’t you want to... play?”

A smile teased at the corner of his mouth, despite the concern for her still coursing through him. “Play? Maybe a bit later, after you’ve had a chance to rest--”

“You’ve bandaged me. We’ve got painkillers. And I’m sure you could keep my mind off sleep for a while,” she said, echoing his words from weeks ago. “Come on. Don’t you want me?”

“Rose...”

She leaned up on her toes and pulled his head down to hers, twining her fingers in his hair, kissing him sweetly, but the edge of hunger was there. She nipped at his lower lip and he groaned, pulling away with his hands at her shoulders.

“No, no, no, you’re in no condition--”

She whimpered. “Please, Doctor? Just once?”

He looked down at her liquid gold eyes. “Very... very tempting, Rose.” He sighed. “All right. You want to try something?”

She smiled. “Mm-hmm.”

“Okay.”

He pulled her into the bedroom and situated her in the center of the bed. Rose smiled the whole time, gamely following his instructions to be still as he reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out some rope. She hummed appreciatively as he started tying her down, wrapping the rope around her middle and avoiding her arms. When he finished his task, he stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips, surveying his work.

“Is it uncomfortable?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Can you breathe?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you move?”

Rose struggled slightly, but couldn’t get free. “Nope.”

“Good.”

At that, he picked up his trousers from the floor and walked out of the room. Rose blinked.

“Doctor? Doctor!” She began to struggle in earnest, but found that he’d really done an excellent job with the ropes. Through clenched teeth, she yelled after him, “Come back here and untie me, you prat! You get back here right now and fuck the hell out of me, Theta John Smith!”

* * *

_The officer on duty had him write his full name and date on the paper: Theta John Smith, February 18th, 1988. His fingers were still inky from the fingerprinting, resulting in some smudging. Then he was taken before the height indicator for his mug shot. He gave a cheeky wink. And finally, he was led to the holding cell where Mickey was already waiting, leaning up against a wall that was covered in graffiti, scratched into the surface by countless occupants. The cell door slammed shut and Theta sat heavily on the lone bench._

_“We are so dead, Doctor,” said Mickey, running his hand over his close cropped black hair._

_“Nah, they’ll just keep us overnight. We’ll get back to the campus in the morning. Don’t sweat it.”_

_“No, I mean we haven’t finished the chem homework.”_

_The Doctor grinned at his friend. “In that case,_ you _are so dead, because I finished mine.”_

_“I don’t suppose you’d let me copy yours, would you?”_

_“For two hundred quid, I’ll do it for you.”_

_“Done.”_

_The Doctor sighed, shaking his head. “Must be nice to have rich relatives.”_

_“It has its benefits,” Mickey said with a smile. He edged closer to the bench, a familiar look on his face, and Theta wondered what he was about to get talked into. “Speaking of classes I will eventually fail, I hear you like mythology.”_

_“And?”_

_“Well, I’m supposed to start this mythos class tomorrow, and it happens to fall during the time I could hook up with the girls at Delta Sigma Pi...”_

_The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, lifting an eyebrow. “This involves me, how?”_

_“I was wondering... Think you could show up and... be me?”_

_He rolled his eyes at Mickey. “Why don’t you just ditch the class for one day?”_

_“Because if you don’t show up on the first day, you get dropped. Attendance is fifty percent of the grade. And I need the class to graduate. If I don’t graduate, I don’t inherit all my gran’s lovely money, you see my problem?” He paused for breath._ “And _I hate mythology.”_

_“Sucks to be you.”_

_“Come oooooon,” his friend wheedled. “She’s never seen me. She won’t know you’re not Mickey Smith.”_

_The Doctor pursed his lips, looking at the opposite wall as he considered. “For how long?”_

_“Oh, you know... Five months or so.”_

_“Fifteen hundred. Wait, I’ll be doing your homework, too, won’t I?”_

_“Well,_ yeah, _since I won’t be going to the class, it would be kind of stupid for_ me _to do it. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”_

_“That’s why they call me the Doctor,” he grinned. “If I’m the smart one, what does that make you?”_

_“The pretty one who skates by on his looks and his gran’s money.”_

_“Ah.” The Doctor was glad they cleared that one up, though he couldn’t help but run his hands through his floppy hair that sometimes covered his eyes. Why wasn’t_ he _the pretty one? He was just as fit as Mickey, though Micks_ did _have sideburns… Maybe he’d try that sometime. “All right, homework, too. Three thousand. Which professor is it?”_

_“Professor Rani. She’s supposed to be a stone cold fox... but a total bitch.”_

_“Four thousand.”_

_Mickey scoffed. “Anything_ else?” __

_“And I want lunch. Every day.”_

_“Wait a minute,” said Mickey, putting his hands on his hips. “Four thousand pounds? To take one class, do the homework, AND you want lunch every day?”_

_“Yep,” said the Doctor, popping his ‘p.’_

_Mickey grinned. “Done and done! Sucker. I would have gone up to five.”_

_“You’re just gonna ask me to do something else for you tomorrow.”_

_“Probably! Now, do you mind budging up a bit, sweet cheeks, so I can sit down?”_

_“I don’t see your name on it.”_

_Mickey pointed. “It’s right there. You’re sitting on it.”_

_“The bench?”_

_“No, fucktard, my NAME.”_

_The Doctor lifted one leg to look at the seat of the hard plastic bench. “You carved your name into the bench while I was getting my mugshot taken?” he asked, incredulously._

_“I found a pointy rock.”_

_“You are such an idiot.”_

_“For four thousand quid, that’s MISTER Idiot, SIR!”_

* * *

The Doctor went downstairs after pulling on his trousers, finding his shirt flung over the banister. He shoved his arms through the sleeves but didn’t bother buttoning it up. He pulled his mobile from his pocket as he went back to the kitchen, ignoring Rose’s indignant cries upstairs for him to come back and untie her. As he began picking up the sundry items he’d left on the floor, he hit his speed dial.

“Hello?”

“Jackie, it’s the Doctor-- Theta.”

“Theta! Where are you? It’s been a week since we heard from you! I didn’t even get to see the girl!”

He sighed. “I need your help. Her lucid moments are getting fewer and I can’t be here all the time.” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to do. She’s becoming far more than I can handle by myself.”

“Okay, I’ll get there. Where are you?”

“About an hour North of Sunderland, in Bothal.”

“My mother used to live out there,” said Jackie, her voice surprised.

“Probably not this far. We’re out by Bothal Castle, it’s sort of tricky to find.” He gave her the address.

“What?” He held the phone away from his ear briefly, wincing at Jackie’s tone. “What are you doing there? Did you just... crash the place?”

“No, it’s Rose’s house.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Rose?”

“My mate. Rose Tyler.”

“Oh... my God...” Jackie whispered. “I’ll be there tonight,” she said at last, her voice firm.

“You can call me on your mobile if you get lost--”

“No, I know how to get there.”

“You don’t have to rush--”

“I’ll _be there_ tonight.” She rang off.

He looked at his mobile for a moment, confused, before putting it back in his pocket with a shake of his head. He paused, listening for Rose, but all was quiet. He put the shopping bags in the pantry and left the kitchen, going back upstairs.

When he eased the bedroom door open, Rose was lying motionless on the bed, her brow furrowed, eyes squeezed shut. When he sat down next to her, he did so as gingerly as possible to avoid jouncing the mattress, but she still groaned.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said softly, knowing that sometimes, even loud sounds could cause pain. “Does it hurt?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, weakly. “Genius.”

“Ah. That’s Rose-talk for ‘good thinking, genius.’” She tried to laugh at that, but ended up groaning in pain. “No, no, it’s okay,” he said. “Don’t try to laugh. Do you want the pills?”

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You don’t?”

“No,” she repeated, with difficulty. “No more.”

“No more.” It took him a moment to comprehend what she was saying. “We’re out.”

“Uh-huh. Genius.” She groaned again, more painfully. “Hospital? Please?”

He frowned, sadly, wishing there was more he could do for her. “No. I’ve told you. There’s no way I can take you to a hospital. They’ll ask too many questions.” Rose whimpered and the sound broke his heart. “No, no, shh...” he soothed, gently running his fingers over her hair. “You’ll be all right. I’ll get some more... But I’ll have to go into Blyth.” The seaside town was only about thirty minutes away, but he hated being away from Rose for any amount of time, especially now.

At the mention of him leaving, Rose’s eyes snapped open, bright with panic. “No, no, no, no, don’t go! I’ll be good, I promise! Please, don’t leave!”

“It’ll be all right,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even and low. “I called someone. She’s going to help us.”

“Who?”

“A friend. Can you make it until tonight?”

She moaned, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. “Doctor...”

“I’m here, Rose. I’m right here.”

* * *

_“Mickey Smith?”_

_The Doctor raised his hand. “Right here, Professor Rani.”_

_The hard-looking brunette with high cheekbones rested her slate blue eyes on him. “I’d like to see you after class. Everyone else, don’t forget, your ten page paper on Lycanthropy is due next week. Not the week after that, not after you get over the row with your girlfriend... Next week. See you then.”_

_The rest of the mythology class shuffled out of the stadium seated classroom as the Doctor came to stand beside the professor’s desk next to the chalkboard. “You wanted to see me?”_

_She waited until the door closed behind the last straggler before looking at him again. “You’re not Mickey Smith.”_

_He froze for a moment. “Uh... That’s what it says on my underwear,” he said, attempting to brazen it out. If the professor found out what he and Mickey were up to, there was a strong chance they could both be kicked out of the university._

_“Don’t play games with me,” she said. “Mickey Smith hit on me three weeks ago, gave me his number, and you’re not him.”_

__That idiot, _the Doctor thought, making a mental note to smack Mickey upside the head._

_“What’s your real name?” she asked._

_“Mickey Smi--”_

__“Tell me your real name.” __

_Dreamlike, he found his mouth opening on its own to answer her, “Theta John Smith.”_

_“Theta,” she repeated._

_He blinked, unable to believe he’d really just told her the truth. “Uh... uh-huh.”_

_“So, if you’re not Mickey,” she said. “What are you doing in my class?”_

_“I like mythology.”_

_“You’re a terrible liar.”_

_“I’m not lying, I_ do _like mythology,” he said. “Plus my roommate has money. And I don’t. It was a good trade-off.”_

_“How much is he paying you?”_

_“Um...”_

_“Wow. That much, eh?”_

_“I get lunch out of it, too.” Full disclosure, why not, she already knew everything else._

_“You could be in so much trouble,” she said, with a low laugh that tripped along his spine. “I’m not saying you’re_ not _in trouble.”_

_Uneasily, he shifted his weight. “Are you going to turn us in?”_

_She considered him for a moment, looking him up and down in such a way that he suddenly felt self-conscious. “I don’t think so,” she said, finally. “I like seeing your face in my class. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”_

_He pulled at his ear. “Um, Professor Rani--”_

_“Lania. Please. Calling me Professor Rani makes me sound like I need to wear Coke-bottle glasses and put books away in alphabetical order.”_

_“I... I should go.”_

_“You’re in the doctorate program, aren’t you? No wonder you need the money. And your friends call you ‘the Doctor.’”_

_He blinked at her. “How did you know that?”_

_“Just a guess,” she said, waving one hand. “No young man would willingly call himself ‘Theta’ if he could help it, really.” She smiled, her teeth shining in the florescent light, as she stood up from the desk and moved closer to him. “Tell me, Doctor. Have you ever had an older woman push you up against a wall, kiss your neck, and slide her hand down your trousers?”_

_His mouth fell open._ “What?” __

_“Guess not.”_

_With surprising force, Lania shoved the Doctor up against the chalkboard, bit down on his neck, and slid her hand inside his trousers to cup him through his pants. He gasped, trying to pull away, but there was no where for him to go, trapped against the wall as he was. “P-Professor!” he stuttered, pushing ineffectively at her shoulders._

_“Lania,” she corrected, sucking at his pulse._

_“Fine! Lania! This isn’t appropriate!” he exclaimed._

_“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Don’t you find me sexy?” She squeezed him, intimately._

_He groaned. “Incredibly so,” he admitted, reluctantly. “But--”_

_“Oh!” she said, backing away at once. “You’re not attracted to me. Sorry, I wasn’t aware that yours and Mickey’s relationship was--”_

_“No!” the Doctor said, holding up his hands. “God, no! I’m not-- I mean, WE’RE not-- And I am. Attracted! To YOU, I mean.” He looked down at the floor as she laughed again. His trousers were uncomfortably tight and he wished she wasn’t looking at him so he could adjust himself. “But this is your class... and university property and... stuff,” he finished, lamely._

_“You’re right,” she agreed. “We shouldn’t do this here.” Turning to the desk, she picked up a pen and scribbled on a scrap of paper. “Here’s the address to my flat. Be there around midnight.” She tucked it in his pocket, her fingers tracing along his erection as she did so. “You’re dismissed.”_

* * *

_The Doctor took a long pull from his glass of ale while Mickey watched him with eager eyes, completely ignoring the match on the large telly, the rest of the bar, and the noisy uni students crowded into it._

_“Come on, man, spill!” he said._

_He set down his glass. “Right. So. I’m standing in front of the mythos class, giving my report on Lycanthropy.”_

_“Uh-huh. Snore. Get to the good part.”_

_The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Everyone else is sitting at least four rows behind her, and she’s sitting_ right _in front of me, in the first row. The lights are off in the room, except for the light from the projector and all I can see is her.”_

_He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, and?”_

_“Mickey... I swear to God... No knickers.”_

_His friend gave a shuddering exhale. “Well? Details, man! Is she shaved? Landing strip? Amazon? Full on hardwood floors, what?”_

_“She has her pen in one hand,” the Doctor continued, “and she’s working it with her teeth and her tongue, and her other hand... slides down and in-between her legs...”_

_“She did NOT do that.”_

_“Mickey,” he said, giving him a direct look. “Hand to God. Professor Rani stroked the kitten while I gave my Lycanthropy report.”_

_Mickey sat back in his seat, a satisfied look on his face. “Ah. So she was trimmed.”_

_“Nothing could be further from the point!” the Doctor exclaimed._

_“Well, how was she when you went to her place last week?” Mickey asked._

_“I didn’t go.”_

_“YOU DIDN’T GO?”_

_“No!” said the Doctor, hitting his friend in the arm. “Are you barmy? She’s a professor!”_

_“Are YOU barmy?” Mickey asked, shoving him back. “Do you know how many blokes are sporting wood because of her? Seriously, Doctor, it’s a forest. You’d be mad not to take advantage of this!”_

_“I think she’s the one taking advantage,” he muttered._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I don’t like being blackmailed.”_

_Mickey huffed. “I really don’t see the difficulty in this decision. The hottest professor, no, woman, no,_ person _on campus is blackmailing you for a shot at your man wand.” He waved a hand in front of the Doctor’s face. “HELLO? You get over there, and you tap that keg! Drink deep from the well, mate!”_

_“You’re a fucking poet, Mickey.”_

_Neither one of them noticed her until she placed her elbow on the small, round table they were seated at._

_“Gentlemen,” said Lania, with a smooth smile._

_“Professor!” exclaimed Mickey in surprise._

_“Is this seat taken?” she asked, sweetly._

_Mickey and the Doctor were in the only two seats at the table. “There’s only two--”_

_“I was talking about your lap,” she said to the Doctor. Laughing, she added, “Oh, did I say that out loud?” She looked over at Mickey. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Mickey.”_

_“Yes! Hi!” he said, before furrowing his brow. “Wait, what?”_

_“Goodbye,” she said._

_“Huh?”_

__“Go away.” __

_A glazed look came over Mickey’s eyes and he stood up from the chair. “Later, Doctor,” he said, his voice soft and a bit slurred, as he began walking out of the bar. Lania took the opportunity to slide onto the Doctor’s lap, one arm across his shoulders, the other hand on his chest._

_“What a coincidence,” she purred. “You’re here. I’m here.”_

_“Right. Coincidence,” he said, frowning. “Like the coincidence of you being at the Tesco’s, or the coincidence that you showed up at study hall.”_

_“It’s like fate. Don’t you ever think that some things were meant to be?”_

_“If you’re of the opinion that fate is what you make of it, sure.” He looked across the table at Mickey’s vacated chair. “There’s a seat open now, you don’t have to sit in my lap.”_

_“I don’t_ have _to do anything. Ever,” she said, her voice hard around the edges._

_He shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder. “Someone could see us like this...”_

_“Ooh,” she said, grinning. “I sense a little bit of fear. That’s exciting.”_

_“Lania, I don’t think--”_

_“Good. A boy your age shouldn’t think. Just react.” She wiggled her bum and giggled as she felt him pressing against her. “You’re getting turned on.”_

_“Look, I--”_

_“Tell me I’m lying.”_

_“No,” he said, instantly. “If I say that, I’m fairly certain you’ll prove it.”_

_“You catch on quick.” She brought her hand up and turned his face to her, kissing him, and pulling his lower lip into her mouth before sweeping her tongue inside. He moaned, helplessly, his hands lightly resting at her waist._

_A pair of footsteps stopped in front of them. “Lania.”_

_She growled as she pulled her lips away from the Doctor, glaring up at a blond man in a dark suit who was frowning menacingly at the two of them. “Harry,” she acknowledged. “Let me introduce you to one of my students. This is Theta Smith. He’s in my mythos class. Theta, this is Harold Saxon, he teaches economics.”_

_“Lania, this is a bit bold, even for you,” the man said. “Do you really think you should be so_ friendly _with your students?”_

_“I like a hands-on approach in education.” She sighed, then slid off of the Doctor’s lap and pulled him up out of the chair by the arm. “But if you insist, we were just leaving.”_

_“You’re being ridiculous!” Harry said._

_“I learned a long time ago, Harry,” said Lania as she brushed past, tugging the Doctor alongside her, “if you’re going to get what you want, you have to hunt it down and pounce on it.” She waved her fingers at him. “Bye.”_

_The Doctor thought he heard Harry growl after them as he struggled to keep up with Lania._

* * *

Jackie unlocked the door to the house with the key she hadn’t had call to use in over ten years. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath. Tears were threatening to fall as memories washed over her. She hadn’t thought she would ever come back, and now...

Theta hurried down the stairs toward her and she tugged her small suitcase inside, shutting the door. “Jackie,” he said, by way of greeting. “You made it.” He stared at the door for a moment. “How’d you get in?”

“I have keys,” she said. “Where is she?”

He shook his head, confused. “Upstairs. Master bedroom on the--”

She was already moving past him for the stairs. “I know where it is. Is she awake?”

He could only follow after her, slightly bewildered. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. She needs more pain medication, but I’ve been waiting to leave until you got here.”

She rounded on him, blue eyes flashing, and he stumbled back down a step. “Well, get your arse on the road! Her mind won’t tolerate that kind of pain for much longer. Go on, then, I’ll look after her.”

He looked like he might argue for a moment, but in the face of Jackie’s glare, he turned and left the house. Jackie sighed and continued upstairs, quietly opening the bedroom door.

The room was dark, lit only by the light coming from the ensuite, the door partially open, spilling across the bed where Rose lay, shivering, covered by several duvets. Jackie crossed the room, removed her shoes, and climbed in beside her, tenderly stroking Rose’s hair away from her face as she hummed a soft lullaby.

Rose groaned, her eyes squinting open. “Mum?”

“Shh,” said Jackie. “It’s all right, love. I’m right here.”

“What’s happening to me?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“Best not to think about it just now. Go back to sleep.”

Rose fell quiet for a moment. “Mum?”

“Yes, love?” she said, patiently.

“Aren’t you dead?”

Jackie smiled down at her little girl, so grown up now, yet still seeming so small, swallowed in the covers on the bed as she was. “We’ll talk about that in the morning.”

Rose turned her face into her mother’s side and closed her eyes again, drifting off to the sound of a lullaby she hadn’t heard since she was a girl.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dub-con warning for drug use in this chapter.

The sun was just barely starting to rise as Jackie walked into Rose’s bedroom with a glass and a pitcher of water. Rose lay shivering under a pile of blankets, her teeth chattering. Jackie sat on the edge of the bed and poured some water into the glass, then set the pitcher on the bedside table. She leaned down to help her daughter sit up a little.

“Here, Rose, have some water.”

Rose managed to drink a little of the liquid, her teeth clicking against the glass, before she shuddered and snuggled back down into the nest, trying to get warm. “Ugh, mum... I’m so cold.”

Jackie felt Rose’s forehead, she was still burning with fever, but Rose only seemed to feel the opposite. She got up and went to the ensuite, wetting a cloth with cold water. She returned to the bedside and placed the compress on Rose’s head. “I know you won’t like this, but hopefully it’ll help break the fever. Do you think you could try some food?”

“Maybe. In a while.”

“All right. Are you still up to talking?”

Rose sighed. “Yes, please, talk to me while I’m sane.”

“Well, what else do you remember about that night?”

Rose closed her eyes and thought back to the night she’d passed out in the alley and woken up at the Doctor’s flat. “I vaguely remember you talking to the Doctor and thinking you were my mum... but later I just thought I was delirious.”

“It was probably both,” said Jackie.

“But I don’t understand. Everyone thinks you died twelve years ago!”

Jackie looked down at the duvet for a moment. “I had to protect my family. Both ours, and the pack. It was getting too dangerous... but you and Tony and Lynda... you were just kids. You wouldn’t have understood, you weren’t ready to know the secret. So, I left you in my sister’s care.”

“You don’t think that thinking you were dead was just as traumatic as whatever else you would have told us?” asked Rose, her biting tone coming through the fever and chills.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“No.” She sighed. “You did what you had to, I guess.”

“I knew my special girl would understand.” Jackie smiled. “You were always special. I knew one day you’d become one of us. I just never thought it would be... one of _us._ My own pack.” She frowned a bit. “Not sure how much I like Theta being your mate, though.”

“Thet-- Oh.” Rose laughed softly. “You mean the Doctor.”

Jackie crossed her arms. “I’ve been calling him by his first name for over ten years, I’m not going to start calling him by that rubbish nickname now.”

Rose laughed again, but it was a weak sound. “Somehow I knew you wouldn’t approve. God, I’ve missed you.”

Jackie smiled, touching Rose’s cheek lightly. “I kept tabs on you over the years, but believe me, I’ve missed you, too. More than I can possibly say.”

“So, was dad in the pack?”

Jackie laughed. “Rose, your dad _started_ the pack!”

“Really?”

“Yep. He gathered all of us together. He brought Theta into the fold.”

“How do you handle dad being gone? I mean, if the Doctor goes into the other room, my skin starts crawling. I don’t think I could take it if he died.”

Jackie shook her head. “Died?” Comprehension dawned on the older woman’s face. “Oh, sweetheart, your father’s not dead.”

Rose jerked, trying to sit up. “What?”

“Lie down,” said Jackie, pressing gently on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Yes, he’s very much alive.”

Reluctantly, Rose settled back down on her pillows and let Jackie adjust the cold compress on her forehead. “Then why isn’t he with you? Or in London with the others?”

Jackie sighed, sadly. “Pete was our leader for a long time. But he had his authority challenged. He lost, he had to leave. Those are his rules.”

“It was Harry?” Rose asked. Jackie nodded. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

“It was Pete’s wish that I stayed. To keep protecting them. He couldn’t abandon them completely... Even though they had to turn their backs on him.” She paused, wrapping her arms about herself. “It’s... agony... to be apart. Like...”

“Like a part of your soul is missing,” Rose finished.

“Yes,” said Jackie, softly. “I go to him every so often. But it makes it all that much harder when I have to leave again.” She paused, then brightened a bit. “It won’t be like this forever, though.”

“Why?”

“I believe in Theta.” She pointed at Rose. “But don’t you ever tell him I said so.”

* * *

The Doctor ducked into a shady alley, damp from the morning’s rain. It had taken him all night to track down one of the drug dealers the seaside town of Blyth harbored. All he wanted to do was get the pain medication Rose needed and hurry back to her. He eyed the shapeless form of a man in a gray hoodie standing in a doorway and cautiously approached.

“Hey, uh... hi,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and then back to the man. “I’m, ah... looking for pain killers. Percocet. Toradol. Vicodin.”

The cap the man wore hid his eyes. “You got the cabbage?”

The Doctor held out a folded wad of notes. The man pulled a plastic bag with oblong white pills inside out of the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, but he didn’t make the exchange right away.

“Hey, I also got some really good stuff. New in the market. You got a nice face, so I’ll let you try it for half price.”

The Doctor shook his head, still holding out the money, his eyes on the bag of pills that would provide his mate with much needed relief. “No, ta. I just want the pills. Here’s your money.”

Still, the dealer held out. “C’mon, man. It’ll give you a great high.”

“I don’t _want_ a high,” the Doctor said, tightly, “I want the bloody pills!”

Instantly, the baggie of pills disappeared back into the hoodie, the man straightening up. “You an informer?”

The Doctor advanced on the man. “Look, arsehole, I have _money._ Give me the pills!”

“I don’t think so, man.”

The dealer began to walk away, but the Doctor moved faster, grabbing the man and shoving him up against the brick wall of the alley. Angrily, he growled in the man’s face, which drained of color, his eyes wide and scared.

“Give. Me. The. Fucking. Drugs,” he bit out, his voice hardly recognizable from moments before. “NOW!”

The man fumbled in his pocket and pulled out several baggies, holding them out to the Doctor with shaking fingers. “Yeah, yeah, here you go, I was just kidding, man, see? Kidding?” Nervous laughter bubbled up from him.

The Doctor grabbed the bags in one hand and dropped the dealer on the ground with the other. “Have a nice day,” he growled, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the alley, his long tan coat trailing after him in the breeze.

The dealer heaved a heavy sigh of relief. He removed his cap and ran a still shaking hand through his hair, feeling like he had somehow dodged a bullet. “Shit...”

* * *

_Theta groaned as another wave of pain washed over him. The chains keeping him locked to the bed rattled as he tried to curl into the fetal position, but they held fast, keeping him prone. The mattress sank a bit as someone sat next to him and he squinted his eyes open to see Lania smiling down at him. Even the dim lighting sent daggers of pain through his head and he groaned again._

_“Aww, I know it hurts, my poor little whelp,” she cooed. “But you can handle it. You’re a strong boy, aren’t you, Doctor? Yes, you are!” She took a small tan bottle from the nightstand and shook out a long, white pill. “Open up, here comes another one...”_

_He was in no condition to resist as she opened his mouth with one hand and dropped the pill in with the other. She stroked his neck until he reflexively swallowed._

_“Please, Lania,” he whispered, unable to talk any louder. “Let me go. I swear, I’ll come back, I won’t--” He groaned as his insides lurched again, but he forced himself to keep talking. “I won’t tell anyone about... what you are... I swear. Just let me go.”_

_She replaced the pill bottle on the bedside table. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll come back. You’re mine.”_

_“You keep saying that...”_

_“It’s true. I made you. You can’t go back now. It’s too late. You’re mine and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She smiled as he whimpered with the pain. “That’s so cute.” Leaning down, she kissed his forehead, damp with sweat. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you when I get back.”_

_The chains rattled again as he reflexively tried to sit up. “You’re leaving again?” he said in slight panic. “You were gone for two days before!”_

_“Sweetheart, you’ll be unconscious. I gave you enough pills, you’ll be out before I even leave.” She turned her head as a knock sounded at the door. “That will be Harry.”_

_He shifted on the bed, whimpering, and she looked back at him._

_“Jealous?” she asked. “How adorable. I think you’re going to do just fine. You’ve survived this far. The others didn’t.” She stood up. “Except, of course, for Harry.”_

_The door in the front room opened and shut, but instead of Harry, Pete walked into the small bedroom. The frown on his face said it wasn’t a social visit. “Lania. Harry tells me you’ve done it again.”_

_“Pete, I wasn’t expecting you,” said Lania. She crossed her arms. “Harry is such a tattletale.”_

_“You’re not going to charm your way out of this,” Pete warned._

_“But my new one is doing very nicely,” she said, sounding almost like a petulant child. “I really think the connection is going to be there soon.”_

_“No, you don’t,” said Pete with a sigh._

_She rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to make me kill this one, too, are you?”_

_“No, Pete,” said Theta, weakly. “Don’t have her kill this one, too...”_

_Pete moved closer to the bed, looking down at the young man chained there. “His mind’s still working,” he said, surprised. “Why’re you all chained up like this? Did you try and harm yourself?”_

_“Only when I try and get away,” Theta said._

_“Why aren’t you moving?”_

_“She gave me many, many pills.”_

_With an angry exhale of breath, Pete turned back to Lania. “Do you have any idea what the withdrawal alone is going to do to him?”_

_Lania wouldn’t back down. “He’s strong, Pete. He’s a survivor. I really think that this one is going to be it.”_

_“He’s just going to form the same connection that Harry did to you and_ you _are going to feel_ nothing. _You can’t keep running around like this, looking for a fast solution to your problem. You’re hurting yourself, and your family, and these poor boys.” He ran a hand over his short, ginger hair, trying to calm down. “Do this one a favor. If you care about him, if you honestly think he’s the one for you, cut him loose. Let him choose to come back to you.”_

_There was a knock at the door, but Lania kept her eyes on Pete._

_“I think it’s time for you to go,” she said._

_“We’re not done here,” said Pete._

_She sighed in exasperation. “Do as you like then, but show yourself out.” She turned and left the room, and moments later, the front door opened and shut, leaving the flat in silence._

_Pete’s attention flicked back to the boy on the bed as he groaned again. “Those pills must be starting to hit you. We don’t have much time, then. Where does she keep the keys?”_

_Theta pointed to a desk in the corner and Pete walked over to begin rummaging through the drawers. It was only a short time before Theta heard the rattle of keys. The older man returned to the bedside and began to free him from the chains._

_“You don’t have to leave,” Pete said as he worked. “The decision’s up to you. But my advice is, be gone by the time she comes back.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small, white card, leaving it next to the bottle of pills. “Here’s my number. When you’re ready for help... give me a call.”_

_He dropped the keys to the locks next to Theta and left the flat, leaving Theta alone with his rapidly clouding thoughts._

* * *

The Doctor almost dropped his keys in his haste to unlock the door to the Bothal house and get inside. He shut the door behind him and automatically started up the stairs, but stopped when he realized voices were coming from the kitchen.

“...I’m not kidding,” Jackie was saying. “He honestly had no idea how he got there.”

Rose laughed and, to the Doctor, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “So, then what happened?” she asked.

He began moving toward the kitchen, but lingered in the hallway, wanting to hear what Jackie was saying about him.

“Well, he’s running through the pasture in my red and white striped knee socks and Pete’s orange and purple Bermuda shorts, dodging cows left and right, and the farmer is chasing after him with his shotgun. Then he--” She stopped and sighed. “You can stop lurking in the hall, Theta.”

“Doctor!” cried Rose. She stood up as he entered the room, but wobbled on her legs. He dashed forward to catch her.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, keeping his arms around her as she found her balance. “All right?”

“I feel like shit, but other than that, yeah.” She rubbed her face against his tie and shirt. “Missed you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Sorry I took so long. I found you some pain killers.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “More drugs.”

“Take one. Just to bring the pain down. You okay with that?”

“I’m okay with that.” She reached for a glass of water that was on the table near her chair and he fished one of the pills out of the bag in his pocket. With a grimace, Rose swallowed the pill, set down the glass, and put her arms back around him, holding him close. “Please, I’m going to ask you not to leave for a while. Take this opportunity to be near me while I’m not psychotic. I don’t know how long it’s going to last.” Jackie gave a discreet cough behind them and Rose smiled. “Oh, right... Doctor, I’d like you to meet my mum, who I thought was dead, but... wasn’t.”

“I know who Jackie--” He blinked. “Did you say your _mum?”_

“I’m as shocked as you are,” said Jackie. “Thank you for ignoring my advice and not killing my daughter. I would have been quite irritated.”

He looked between the two women, clearly still in shock. “I... can see where Rose gets her sense of humor.”

Rose moaned softly, swaying against him. “I need to lay down now. Could you help me up the steps?”

Jackie nodded. “You go, Theta. I’ll bring up some food in a bit.”

The Doctor scooped Rose into his arms and turned to head into the hall and up the stairs.

“You know, you don’t have to carry me. I just need a hand to hold,” said Rose.

“I know,” he said. “But this is faster. And it’s been much too long since I last had my hands on you.”

She hummed. “It _has_ been several hours.”

“I rest my case.”

He nudged open the door to the bedroom with his foot and carried her to the bed, setting her down as gently as possible, then fluffing the pillows behind her.

“Why were you downstairs?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“Mum was showing me how to cook steak, so it gets warm but not too cooked.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t exactly sound like a cooking lesson.”

“Well, she was also telling me some funny stories about you.” She caught her tongue in her teeth and it nearly burst his heart, seeing it for the first time in so long. “You’ve done some really stupid things.”

He chuckled, softly. “Jackie doesn’t even know the half of it.” He looked down at the duvet briefly, his smile fading. “Rose... I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“No, I gave you that chance about a month ago and you passed it up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Funny. Just ask me the question.”

He hesitated a moment longer. “What would you do... if I died?”

Her lips parted. “What?” she asked, taken aback.

“I need to ask you this while you’re lucid. What would you do if I died?”

Rose blinked rapidly a few times. “I... don’t know.” She paused. “Probably curl up in a ball and wish I was dead, too.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds kind of _Twilight_ -y, doesn’t it? Blech.”

He leaned down and hugged her. “Doesn’t matter.”

She rubbed her hands up and down his back. “Why did you ask me that?”

It was a long moment before he pulled back to look down at her. “Seeing you like this brings back memories... Some of them, I’d rather not recall. Not all of us remember the change process, and hopefully, you won’t either.”

“What are you remembering?”

“Bits and pieces.” He took a deep breath. “Do you remember the professor I told you about? The one I was involved with?” Rose nodded. “Her name was Lania. She wasn’t just my professor, or my lover.” He took one of her hands in his, rubbing his thumb across the back. “She made me what I am.”

“Like... how you made me?”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. What happened between her and I isn’t anything like you and me.”

“Why?”

The rattle of a tray alerted them to Jackie’s presence at the door. “She wasn’t his true mate,” she said, coming in and setting the tray of food at Rose’s bedside.

“I thought we mate for life,” said Rose.

“Yes,” said Jackie. “But that mate is recognized in one single person, and no one else.” Her eyes flicked to the man sitting next to her daughter. “For you, sweetheart, that’s Theta. It will always be Theta, no matter what happens to either of you.” She looked back to Rose. “And for him, it will always be you.”

“Why did Lania turn him if he wasn’t meant for her?” asked Rose.

“Lania’s mate had died,” said Jackie. “A car accident. In most cases, when one mate dies, the other will remain alone. It isn’t easy by any means and often ends... unpleasantly.”

“Suicide?”

“Or a mental institute.” Jackie sighed. “In Lania’s case, she retained her wits, but it made her desperate, and to try and cure her emptiness, she began changing man after man...”

“Not that she was changing everyone she ran into,” the Doctor put in. “We can’t just turn whomever we want.”

“How does it happen?” asked Rose.

“It runs in your bloodline,” said the Doctor.

“Hold it,” said Rose, raising a hand. “Does that mean--?”

Jackie nodded. “Tony, yes.”

“Not Lynda?”

“It’s a recessive trait,” said Jackie. “Both parents have to have it, which generally tends to be the case, as we’re predisposed to find our other half. But even then, it’s a one in four chance that the resulting child will have the mutated gene.”

The Doctor scoffed. “Mutation. It’s evolution.”

“It’s true... Going through the change gives us many benefits,” said Jackie. “Enhanced senses, speed and reflexes, shape-shifting, fast healing, longevity…”

“Some limited control over bodily functions, as the circulatory system changes a bit,” the Doctor added. He waggled his eyebrows at Rose with a cheeky grin. “Also, added stamina.”

Rose rolled her eyes.

“But it’s those same things that make it necessary to hide,” said Jackie. “To move every ten years or so... Before anyone notices that we don’t age as quickly as they do.”

Rose furrowed her brow. “How long do we live?”

Jackie chuckled. “How old do you think I am, Rose?”

“Well, you were born in the sixties, so...” She stopped when Jackie laughed again. “All right, when _were_ you born?”

“I was actually born in the late twenties.”

“WHAT?” Rose sat bolt upright in bed.

Jackie grinned. “Yep, your old mum looks pretty good for her age. I met Pete during World War II.” She blew out a breath. “It’s a long story. See what I mean about longevity?”

“No wonder you chose not to tell us,” said Rose. “You couldn’t be sure which of us would have it.” She frowned. “So, then, someone bit Tony?”

Jackie shook her head. “A bite isn’t required. If you have the gene, eventually, you just start changing, but slowly. A bite from someone fully-changed only speeds up the process. Like a jump-start.” She tapped her chin. “Let’s see... Tony was about fifteen when I disappeared, yeah? When he found me three years later, he told me he knew the body in the river wasn’t mine.”

“How?”

“He’d already started the slow change,” said Jackie. “He told me it ‘didn’t smell right.’ Obviously, he couldn’t tell anyone that, though. They’d think he was mad.”

“Is Tony a part of the pack as well?” asked Rose.

“No. He was still angry with me,” said Jackie. “He left and started his own, just like his father.” She smiled with pride for her eldest. “Eventually, when he was willing to listen, I explained everything and he forgave me for leaving. I hear from him sometimes now.”

Rose nodded, processing everything she’d just been told. “So, Lania jump-started you, then,” she said, looking at the Doctor, who inclined his head. “And she was doing this to other blokes she came across?”

“The others that Lania turned had the blood, but...” Jackie hesitated, wringing her hands.

“But what?” asked Rose, sure she wasn’t going to like what came next.

“They didn’t make it through the change period,” said Jackie, reluctantly. “What you’re going through right now. They all... went insane.” She paused. “Pete told Lania to kill them.”

Rose’s eyes went wide. _“Dad_ did?”

“Rather than have them live that way,” said Jackie. “It was kinder.”

“So, that means...”

“No!” said the Doctor, instantly. “No, you’re different!”

“Theta,” said Jackie, kindly, but sternly. “There _is_ a chance. But it doesn’t happen to everyone. And Rose has us to guide her through it. Not everyone has that advantage. Right?”

He sighed. “Right.”

Rose lifted an eyebrow at him. “That ‘backpacking’ you told me about? You weren’t backpacking, were you?”

“I did backpack!” he protested, but his eyes slid away from hers. “Later on. But not at that time, no. I was running, half-mad, through the countryside.” He looked up, touching his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Which is a form of backpacking, I suppose...”

“He didn’t call Pete until three weeks had gone by,” said Jackie.

* * *

_“I should have called sooner.”_

_Pete looked at the naked boy standing on his doorstep and nodded. “Yes, you should have.” He stepped back. “Come in before someone sees you like that.”_

_Theta stepped inside the house, shivering. Pete handed him a long tan coat from a rack by the door, then preceded him into a living area where a blonde woman sat._

_“This is my wife, Jacqueline. She goes by Jackie.” He sat down next to her. Theta stood awkwardly in the doorway to the room, the coat wrapped tightly around him._

_“Nice to meet you,” said Jackie, taking the odd situation in stride._

_“This is... your house?” asked Theta, seeming a bit scattered._

_“One of them,” said Pete. “You can calm down, it’s just the three of us. Have a seat.”_

_“No... Thank you.” Theta began pacing. “I’m... I’m sorry... For all I know, it could have been an hour since I saw you last, or a year. I’m really not sure where I’ve been... or how I got here.”_

_“Allow me to enlighten you.” Pete reached for a stack of newspapers on the coffee table in front of him and read the headline from the top one. “‘Naked Peeping Tom Strikes Again.’”_

_“It’s odd they couldn’t come up with something more clever,” commented Jackie._

_“We’ve been tracking you,” said Pete._

_Theta stopped moving. “Then why didn’t you--”_

_“I wasn’t going to push you,” said Pete. “I knew if you wanted help and the police didn’t catch you first, you’d call.”_

_Theta glanced around as though he still wasn’t sure they were alone. “Where are the rest of them?”_

_“Who? The pack?” Pete laughed shortly. “Well, we don’t all live together, if that’s what you’re asking. We all live separate lives, but we look out for one another.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Listen... What’s your name?”_

_“Theta.”_

_“Well, Theta, you have a choice,” said Pete. “How’s your head? Back in one piece?”_

_“I... think so,” said Theta, hesitantly._

_“At least you’re thinking,” said Pete. “Your change looks to be about done. But your new life is just beginning.” He paused, giving the young man a significant look. “You know what you are now, don’t you?”_

_Theta nodded, grimly. “Yes.”_

_“You’re going to need to know how to get around in this world where you are a minority and everyone else sees you as a threat,” said Pete. “You can go it alone, like you have for the past three weeks--”_

_“I would advise against that,” Jackie put in._

_“Or you can be welcomed into this pack,” continued Pete. “Lania turned you, so you’re our responsibility now.”_

_Theta’s brow furrowed. “Your responsibility? What about her? Where is she?”_

_Jackie looked to Pete. “Oh, dear...”_

_“What?” asked Theta, looking rapidly between them. “What is it?”_

_Pete patted Jackie’s hand, then looked back to Theta. “Lania is dead,” he said, as gently as possible._

_Theta’s mouth fell open. “What?”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“When did it happen?”_

_“A week ago.”_

_Theta turned around at once and headed for the door. Pete stood up. “Theta!” The boy stopped. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Pete warned. “You can’t bring her back.”_

_Theta ran from the house, slamming the door behind him. Pete sat back down with a sigh._

_“I really liked that coat.”_

* * *

_There was no moon that night, but for Theta, it was as bright as day. He ran through the tall grass, the long coat billowing out behind him, dodging trees and jumping over fallen branches with an agility he’d never before exhibited. The sounds of night creatures, crickets and owls, seemed distant, his ears were filled with the sound of his hard breathing, but mostly he heard the sound of his own heart, pounding out a fast beat in time with the blood rushing in his veins._

_He jumped over a pile of rocks and landed on all fours, his breath misting before him as he sniffed the ground. “She was here,” he muttered, crawling around the area. “With... someone...” The different smells seemed to shimmer in his vision, slim threads of silver and gold, hanging in the air just out of reach. There were too many of them and he growled in frustration at his inability to find the information he wanted._

_He rushed to another spot, sniffing the dirt, curling his fingers into the moist earth. “Blood... Hers...”_

_This wasn’t an accident, he knew, he could smell Lania’s fear, a slender cold chain of red snaking through his vision. He circled the spot, trying to sort out the different scents. He could smell other people... sterile, metallic smells... And knew they took her away. A few feet from there, he scented Pete and Jackie, but they’d been too late, Lania had already been taken. But who’d done it? Who had killed her?_

_An agonizing stab of pain cut through his heart, an aching loneliness welling up from deep inside him, erupting in a long, high pitched howl. His head thrown back to the sky, tears poured from his eyes as he cried out his loss to the stars._

* * *

Rose stared at the Doctor. “What did you do?”

He sighed. “Classic me. Something stupid.”

“What any uni boy does when he’s upset,” said Jackie. “He went out and got very, very drunk. Pete and I pulled him out of a ditch the next morning.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to Lania, mum?”

Jackie shook her head. “No. No autopsy.”

“Why not?” asked Rose.

“We can’t have much to do with hospitals and morgues and such. And we couldn’t be connected to a murder. Pete paid some blokes with underground connections to get rid of the body before any conclusions could be drawn. The case went cold after a while and was dropped.”

“That’s awful,” said Rose. “No burial. Nothing... human.”

“It’s not the way it usually happens, Rose,” said Jackie. “And we all mourned her in our own way.” She looked at the Doctor. “Some of us still did, up until about a month ago.”

“So sad,” Rose went on. “She must be so upset. I bet... I bet she’s furious.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor, facing Rose more fully as he realized her lucidity was slipping. “Rose, breathe. Focus...”

Rose gripped the Doctor’s sleeve, her eyes bright and glassy. “What if she’s out there? Outside the house! She could be watching me! Doctor, you need to save me from her! She’s watching! Doctor!”

He pulled her into his arms as she whimpered and rocked her gently back and forth. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here, Rose. Try to be calm. You’re going to be fine.”

Jackie touched his shoulder. “Keep it together,” she said. “Your change was a flash in the pan. Most take longer than three weeks.”

“But her mind can’t tolerate--”

“No!” she cut him off. “If you lose faith, then this is pointless. You have to stay strong for her!”

His eyes were fierce when he glanced at Jackie. “Are you saying this because she’s your daughter or because you really feel that way? What would Pete do?”

“She’s going to be _fine,”_ Jackie growled. “And if she isn’t, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than the lack of a mate, Theta!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, looking back down at the woman in his arms.

Jackie took a deep breath, collecting her composure. “Of course.” She turned to leave the room. “Try not to worry. She’s a survivor. Like you.” She eased the door shut and headed downstairs. 

Reaching into her pocket, Jackie pulled out her mobile and hit the speed dial. “Pete?” She breathed a sigh. “I’ve missed you, too. What I’ve got to tell you could be very good... or very bad.” She paused, glancing up the stairs behind her. “I think it’s time you came back.”

* * *

"I can't believe you let him borrow the company jet."

Clara twirled her home phone cord between her fingers and sighed. "Amy, it's been a month since that happened. Can you please stop chapping my arse about it?"

“I’m not even allowed to borrow the company jet!”

“Be like Reinette. Sleep with the execs and you’ll get your company jet clearance.”

“I hear they all have very, very, very small penises.” Stretching the cord on her phone, Clara leaned over her kitchen counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“That’s why they sign such very big checks.”

"Oooh, score one for Clara on the witty scale!" Amy said. "I bring it up because I’m proud of you, it was a ballsy move! Or maybe you just ate your paint chips that morning.”

Clara sighed. "My stupid romantic sensibility is entirely to blame. I wasn't going to do it, I swear. But you should have seen those huge brown puppy eyes... They could have stopped a train."

“Instead, they stole a plane! See how I made that rhyme?”

Clara shook her head. “You are so random. Why are you so cheery in the mornings? It’s like little birds help you get dressed or something.”

"It’s a gift. And Rose didn't say when she'd be back?"

"No. She just said 'a while.' She made it sound like the Doctor was with her, though." She paused. "I hope they're all right."

"Don't worry, hon. When Rose's ready to come back, she'll be back." From Amy’s side of the phone, a low moan came across the line.

Clara blinked. That had definitely not come from Amy. “What was that?”

“What was what?” asked Amy in a poor try for innocence.

“That moany, groany sound.”

“Oh... that. Ah... the furnace.”

Clara rolled her eyes, planting one hand on a hip. “Does the ‘furnace’ wear really well-cut trousers and work in the same office as me?”

“It... it might.”

“That was the sound of a highly sexy boy-toy waking up after a night of exotic sex, wasn’t it?”

“No.”

Clara waited for Amy to hear the sound of her raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Okay, yes.”

Clara sighed. “Look, I have to go to work now. Just shove Rory in the shower and make sure he’s not late, okay?”

“No promises.”

“I mean it, Amy! I’ve taken enough flack from Reinette!”

Amy giggled. “All right, all right. I have to be into the office at a decent hour anyway. I'm meeting someone today who was a client of Reinette's." Clara could hear the mile-wide grin in Amy's voice. "They were apparently dissatisfied with her work. Eeeheehee!" She composed herself before continuing. "So, I have to go in early to make sure all the proposals are in order."

"You mean you check your own proposals? Gasp!"

"One of these days, I will get my own budget for an assistant and then you will be mine! And _you_ will check my PR proposals and get me halfy-frappy-caffiene-y crap."

"Yeah, one of these days. You can tell me all about it at lunch. Talk to you later, Amy. Good luck!"

"Bye, hon."

* * *

Matt was one of those celebrities who prided himself on being able to drive, rather than rely on a chauffeur. Besides, there was something definitely emasculating about not driving your own car. He turned down the stereo playing Aerosmith as he drove through the streets in order to hear his agent over his Bluetooth better.

“Craig, do we really need to have this meeting with Rayna today?” he asked. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it, because this meeting actually wasn't for the promotion of his crappy-ass movie, though he really wouldn't have relished a meeting for that purpose, either.

“Reinette.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“You know that’s not what you said.” Matt could practically hear the man rolling his eyes. “And yes,” the agent continued. “You told me you didn’t want to date any more actresses.”

Matt had made the mistake of telling his agent he wanted to try dating someone 'real' this time, thinking that the man would understand. Craig took 'real' to mean 'non-actress,' and in his infinite wisdom, he chose Reinette Poisson, their publicist, as the best candidate.

"She's beautiful and knows how to fit into the circles you travel in," Craig said. "She'll look absolutely stunning with you and you know her already. She's perfect!"

How could Matt say that 'perfect' was precisely what he didn't want?

“I will punch you through my Bluetooth if you tell me she compliments my skin tone,” said Matt.

“This is only a preliminary meeting before going out this evening.”

He rolled his green eyes. “Yeah. Because real people need a preliminary meeting before a DATE.” He pulled into the lot of one of the many Starbucks coffee houses that lined the street. “I’m stopping for coffee. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. Bye, Craig.”

He pressed the end button on his earpiece and removed it, tossing it into a cup holder as he turned off the car. Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed a ball cap and his coat, donning them both in addition to his dark sunglasses. He got out and walked toward the storefront, but stopped in front of the door as he turned to lock the car with his clicker. When he turned back around to go inside, someone coming out and carrying an armful of to-go cups crashed right into him. The coffee missed him completely, and instead splashed all over the woman's trainers.

“Shit!” she exclaimed. "She'll have my head!"

She looked up, probably about to soundly tell him off, but instead her dark brown eyes widened and the upset expression melted to one of surprise. Behind the dark glasses, his eyes were probably just as large, as he stared at the person whose words had echoed in his head ever since that night at the bar a month ago.

"Matt!" she exclaimed.

"You!" he said.


	11. Chapter 11

Clara shook her head. "You have absolutely no idea what my name is, do you?" Matt actually looked embarrassed, and she made a dismissive gesture. "I'm kidding. I wouldn't have expected you to remember it, even if you could remember names."

"No, I do remember you," he insisted. "You never showed up at the party that night!"

She bristled slightly. "I did, too!" A thought occurred to her and she dug into her purse. She had dumped everything from the reticule in there after the party. "Ah ha!" She produced the 'Clara' nametag and held it up for him to see.

"Clara!" he exclaimed. "That's it! Got it." He smiled, but then his brow furrowed slightly. "I didn't see you, though... If you went, why didn't you come over?"

She shrugged, shoving the nametag in her pocket. "You looked busy. And I kind of tend to be invisible." She raised an eyebrow. "Although, at times, it felt like I was standing right in front of you."

"I am so sorry," he said, looking even more apologetic than when he had dropped the coffee on her. "You must think I'm such a prat for inviting you and then not even seeing you there." He brightened. "Let me make it up to you. Let me buy you more coffee... Lunch...? New shoes?"

She smiled slightly, but shook her head. "That's very sweet of you, but it's really not necessary..." She hadn't meant to make him feel guilty, he didn't owe her anything, but of course, she couldn't tell him that now. "It's okay. I have to get back to work right after I get my three bosses coffee." She turned to go back inside and groaned when she saw the line. She'd already had to stand in it for about fifteen minutes. "Damn it... If I don't get back soon, she'll make me work through my lunch hour."

"Why don't you just go across the street?" he asked. "There's no line at that donut shop."

Her look was mockingly scandalized. "Are you kidding me? She wouldn't dare drink the toxic waste they serve at that dump. No, it has to be a grande double espresso shot soy latte, half-caf, no whip, light on the foam, with sugar free chocolate syrup only on top, not mixed in. Nothing less will do."

He gaped at her. "How do you remember all that?"

"It wasn't easy."

He looked at the line in the shop, then back at her. "If I can get you coffee in less than two minutes, will you come to lunch with me?"

She blinked. "You're coercing me into lunch?"

"Well, I... I'm not used to asking someone out. There's usually an intermediary."

"Ah..." She shrugged. "Sure, if you can get me coffee, you can have my lunch hour."

He grinned. "Done." He walked into the coffee shop, removed the coat, sunglasses, and hat, then cleared his throat loud enough to be heard two stores over. "Excuse me," he said. "Can anyone tell me how to get to Castle Street?"

A hush fell over the crowd. Matt spread his smile around the room like a sprinkler, and suddenly there was a mass exodus from the line to get coffee, over to where Matt was standing. Everyone was clamoring for an autograph on anything they could grab. Camera phones were out and flashing like mad.

Clara walked right up to the front of the line. She snapped her fingers in front of the entranced barista's face to get his attention back on his job. "Oi, Eddie, you can get his autograph in a minute, this is going to take some focus! I need a grande double espresso shot soy latte, half-caf, no whip, light on the foam, with sugar free chocolate syrup only on the top, not mixed in; a tall half-caf mochaccino, with whip, heavy on the foam, with a shot of sugar free vanilla; and a vente full-caf mudslide frap, no whip, with a dash of cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles. And if you get them wrong, so help me, no tip!"

The man jumped into action. When she looked over at Matt, she saw two upraised thumbs come up from the center of the huge group of people. She had to admit, his plan had worked flawlessly. Her coffee was brought to her shortly, and she headed for the door.

"Hold it!" said Matt.

She turned to see him trying to break away from the group. Not wanting to bring attention to herself, she pointed at the coffee and made a helpless gesture. She had to get the beverages back to the office before one melted and the other two got cold.

"Okay," he said. "Meet me back here in... twenty minutes."

She figured he was guessing he could slip away by then, so she nodded and hurried out the door. It wasn't until she was actually in her car when she realized... Matthew Grayson Ellef was taking her out to lunch.

Her car practically flew down the street.

* * *

"Rory, I need you to work the desk for me," Clara said after dropping off the three coffees and getting a load of work in return. She dumped the big stack of folders and paperwork in front of her fellow assistant.

Rory looked up at her with his gorgeous blue eyes, a doubtful expression on his face. "I'm not really sure how to work the switchboard, Clara, that thing is ancient. You know I’m the computer guy. And besides, Reinette's not going to be happy if one of us is gone..."

"Yes, yes, but I need to take my lunch hour early today. It's important! I'm meeting someone."

His eyes widened slightly. "Like... a date?" Rory had been the one to cover for her when Clara was in the bathroom, crying her eyes out over Adam. Any sign that Clara was getting over that whole mess was no doubt a welcome one.

"Well, we're going to lunch..."

"Is he paying?"

"I think so..."

"Then it's a date," he said definitively. "Go. I'll take care of things here."

"Rory, you're the best!" She hugged him tightly. "And the nicest and the cutest... No wonder Amy likes you so much." She pinched his cheek when he blushed.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shying away. "Go meet your date!"

The phone rang then and Rory looked around frantically for the right button to push. Clara handed him the phone and pressed it for him. She mouthed 'thank you' and blew him a kiss as he said, "Reinette Poisson's office."

* * *

Matt frowned as a man answered the phone at the publicist's office. "I thought she had a female secretary?" he said.

"Oh, yes," said the man on the other end. "She's gone. I'm Ms. Poisson's assistant. May I help you?"

"I see... Well, this is Matt Ellef."

"Mr. Ellef!" The assistant sounded shocked. “How... How are you?”

He furrowed his brow at the odd question. “Uh... Fine?”

“That’s great!” The man sounded genuinely glad. “That’s really great.”

“Well, thanks. I guess.” Rachel really had friendly assistants.

“I’m looking for-- WE’RE looking forward to seeing you this morning, sir.”

"That’s why I’m calling. I need to reschedule today's appointment for after lunch. Something's come up."

"Of... of course, Mr. Ellef." The man suddenly sounded a little nervous. There was a pause as some papers were shuffled and it sounded like something fell on the floor. A muffled curse, and then, "Will one o' clock be all right?"

"That's fine.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir! Perfectly all right! Just a little...” He took a breath. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Okay. Could you please call my agent and notify him of the change?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you."

“You’re welcome, Matt-- AH, Mr. Ellef. We’ll see you at one.” There was a brief shuffling on the other line. “Shit, how do I hang this thing up?”

Matt hung up his mobile, shaking his head slightly. The new male assistant was certainly nice, but he wouldn’t necessarily say Reenie had traded up. As he pocketed his phone, he looked over at the parking lot and smiled as he watched the girl from earlier drive up in her tiny blue car.

* * *

Clara’s stomach did a funny little flip when she saw him smile as she pulled back into the Starbucks parking lot.

"I'm glad you came back," he said when she got out of the car.

"Really?" she asked.

"Well, I would have really felt like a prat this time if I wasn't given a chance to properly make things up to you. First, I ignore you at a party I invited you to, then the next time I see you, I spill coffee all over you." He shook his head. "My track record is not going well, is it?"

She waved that away. "Trust me, your track record is fine. I never would have thought in a million years that Matt Ellef would spill coffee on me. Hey, what do you think I could get on eBay for these shoes?"

He laughed. "Good one." He unlocked his car with the clicker and held open the passenger door. "Shall we?"

She looked at the luxurious interior and shook her head. "If I ride in your car, my shoes will ruin it."

"And?"

"And? That's leather from, I'm guessing, some expensive Italian cow. Forget it. I will not ruin your car just to assuage your guilt."

He shrugged and closed the door, pressing the clicker again. "All right, let's go in your car."

"My car?" She glanced behind her at the aforementioned dented, cluttered, dirty vehicle and shook her head again. "I could never live with myself if I knew you'd seen the inside of my car."

He spread his hands. "Then how will we go to lunch?"

"Your legs," she said, pointing at the long, shapely appendages.

He glanced at them. "Yes?"

"They do work, right?"

"Yes..." he said, stretching out the word.

She smiled. "Then we can walk. There's a great little Mexican place right around the corner."

He blinked at her. "You want me to take you out for Mexican?"

"Sure. I have to be back at my work in an hour, so someplace close is ideal. Why not?"

"Oh... nothing," he said, but he looked vaguely surprised by her choice. "Lead the way."

* * *

Rory cradled the phone close to his ear, keeping his hand around the receiver to muffle what he was saying. Amy was on the other line and he didn’t want to risk Lynda or Christina walking by and hearing him. He kept his eyes on Reinette through the glass of her office windows. The blinds were open at the moment, giving him an unobstructed view, which was good, because if she reached for the phone, he would know to hang up.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” said Amy, cheekily, making Rory blush. “Talking with me on the phone in such a way that people nearby won’t know what you’re talking about... Reinette is mere FEET away, she could press the conference button at ANY moment and hear everything we’re saying!”

“I know,” he said, unable to help a smile. “How are the proposals coming along?”

“Not bad,” she said. “I should be leaving here to meet the client in about forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, at that new office building downtown. I’m wondering if I should make him wait fifteen minutes... You know, to build up tension.”

“You’ll be wonderful. Just remember to compensate for traffic.” Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked to see a man approaching the desk. “I have to go, someone’s here,” he whispered before hanging up. He straightened as the blond man in the dark suit stopped in front of him.

“I’m here to see Reinette,” he said.

“Of course,” said Rory. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Just tell her it’s Harry.”

“Uh... Right away, sir.” Rory fumbled with the intercom for a moment. “Reinette?”

“What is it, Williams?” came Reinette’s tinny voice.

Relieved that he’d hit the right button, Rory said, “Someone named Harry is here to see you.”

“Send him in,” she said. “And make sure we’re not disturbed.”

Rory turned to Harry, but the man was already walking to the door. Reinette closed the blinds, shutting off the view into the office.

“Took you long enough to get here,” came Reinette’s voice through the still-open intercom.

Rory flailed about, trying to find the off-switch, hitting various buttons on the large switchboard.

“I don’t ask ‘how high’ when you tell me to jump, Reinette. I’m not your lap dog,” said Harry.

“Sounds like you could use a glass of wine, Harry...”

Stifling a shout of frustration, Rory finally managed to hit the right button and the disturbing conversation was cut off. He sagged back into his chair with a relieved sigh. He only hoped that whomever Clara was seeing was worth it.

* * *

When they'd been seated amidst many fake palm trees in the tiny warm restaurant, Clara received her first surprise as Matt ordered for them in fluent Spanish. After their curvy dark-haired waitress had left, she gaped at him.

"You speak Spanish?"

He half-smiled and shrugged. "Four years in school."

"But you still remember it! That's amazing how you just rattled it off, like it was nothing. How many languages do you speak?" she asked.

"Just two, not counting English." He shrugged. “I memorize well, that's all."

"Except for names."

“Right. I wanted to travel, so I learned them for communication purposes. I thought acting would be the perfect profession, since successful actors travel all over, filming on location, promoting their films in different countries, you know..."

"Right," she said. "But...?"

He nodded. "But... It's always about work. So, now I have a head full of Spanish and French, and not much to do with it but place an order at a restaurant."

"I've always wanted to travel, too,” said Clara, “but I've never been able to afford it. I always say that when I retire on my gigantic 401k plan, I'll go to all the places I said I would."

He smiled. "That's great."

She returned it, then tapped her index finger on the table. "All right, so give up the details. What other amazing things can you do that the world has no idea of?"

"Is this an interview?"

"No, I'm curious." She shrugged. "It's kind of hard to explain... You know how I said you were really just a normal bloke when I talked to you at the bar?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Okay, granted, speaking three different languages isn't what people would generally classify as 'normal,' but... it makes you more real."

"I think I know what you mean," said Matt. "It's like when I got to meet... um..." He furrowed his brow. "Okay, he was the first big name actor I ever worked with..."

Clara sat straight up in her seat. "Alan Rickman?" she said, about an octave higher than normal.

"Yes, THE Alan Rickman," he said to Clara's dreamy expression. "I worked all night to memorize the entire script. Not just my lines, but everyone's lines, so he wouldn't think I was some rank amateur, even though that's basically what I was. But then, when we were doing the first read-through, he messed up some of his lines, just the same as everyone. Suddenly, he wasn't Mr. Richardson," he said, saying the name in an overly reverent tone.

"Rickman."

"Right. He was just Alastair."

"Alan."

"Right, Alan."

"That's exactly it!" she said. "I find that the more I know about you, the more real you become. Less of a screen-god and more of a person."

"Then, I'd be happy to tell you more about myself," he said, with a smile. "Provided one thing..."

"What's that?"

"You have to tell me about yourself, too."

She winced. "You'll regret that. My life is boring."

"Cleo..."

"Clara, but you were close."

"Thanks. Clara, you have yet to bore me."

She half-smiled. "Thanks," she said, despite the fact she was certain she was about to. However, her curiosity about Matt was rapidly overruling her self-consciousness about herself. "All right, then, tell me... How many musical instruments do you play?"

"Counting the kazoo?"

She considered. "I don't know... Have you ever won any awards for kazoo playing?"

"Counting under-sevens?"

"Okay, count the bloody kazoo."

He smiled proudly. "Six."

"No way!"

"I swear it's true. Kazoo, piano, violin, trumpet, drums, and guitar, though I haven't played the trumpet in a really long time..."

"Were you planning on being a musician?"

"No... The piano and violin were actually at my mother's insistence. Thought it would keep me out of trouble. The others I learned on my own. After I got tired of one, I'd pick up another, because by then, all of my friends were in band." He grinned. "So, how many do you play?"

Her face reddened slightly. "Um... One, I guess."

"Which one?"

She reddened even further and mumbled her answer.

"What?" he asked.

"Voice," she said, only slightly louder.

"You sing?" he asked, seeming delighted.

"NO," she insisted. "I do not sing. I warble. I do not claim to have any talent in the area. My singing is reserved for the shower and my car." There was no way he was going to get her to sing, especially not in the middle of a restaurant.

"Oh..."

He seemed a little disappointed, so she sighed and elaborated a little further. "I used to sing a lot in school."

"What stopped you?"

"I would have thought the sentence was self-explanatory."

"Ah..." His expression changed to one of understanding. "Told you would never go anywhere with it, huh?"

"By my parents as well as my teachers and peers. I was convinced--"

"--That you had no talent," he finished for her. "That it wasn't lucrative, you should give it up and concentrate on finding a 'real job,' right?" He indicated himself with his index finger. "Actor, remember? I've heard it all." He grinned broadly. "It really felt good to hold that award, look directly at the camera, and tell everyone how much I love my 'real job.'"

They laughed together as the waitress brought their food to the table.

"So, tell me about your family," she said as she dug into her taco salad.

"I thought everyone knew about my family," he said, dumping hot sauce all over his tacos.

"I'd like to hear it from you."

He shrugged. "Okay. I was born and raised in Northampton by my adopted parents. I tried looking for my birth parents when I got older, but nothing ever turned up. Since I had been abandoned, it was a little difficult to get information."

Her expression crumpled in sympathy. "That's so sad!"

He briefly lifted one shoulder. "The closest I ever came was discovering where I’d been left. But it’s been a long time and Mum and Dad are great people, so I don't really worry about it anymore."

"So, is Ellef your birth name or your adopted name?" asked Clara.

"Neither, actually. I don't know my birth name, but my original adopted name is Reeves."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. It's just a little common. Christopher Reeve, Keanu Reeves..."

"Neither of whom you have met, I'm guessing."

He nodded, emphatically. "You would be guessing correctly. Grayson's not my real middle name either."

"Okay, one at a time. How'd you come up with Ellef?"

“My favorite number. It’s Norwegian for ‘eleven.’”

“Okay. And Grayson?”

"Well, my real middle name is Aluicious,” he said, nodding when Clara winced in sympathy. “Yeah, that was my agent’s reaction, too. I decided on Grayson from Batman comics."

She stared at him. "You are joking."

"Well, I _was_ a child actor... Besides, it seemed to fit. Dick Grayson was an orphan, too. Granted, my parents weren't killed right in front of me, and every little boy wants to be Batman's sidekick, and as Nightwing he gets with Barbara Gordon and...” He shut his mouth with a click of his teeth. “And... I'm going to stop now before I seem like even more of a geek than I already do. Tell me about _your_ family," he said with a smile.

She groaned, but relented. "My parents have been married for twenty-nine years."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, it would be, were they suited for each other. I've been saying they should get divorced, ever since I was old enough to know better."

His look was sympathetic. "They fight?"

"Like cats and dogs. I've got a younger brother who's psychotic and an older brother who's just as messed up, and we're all ten years apart. We baby-sat each other."

He laughed. "That's actually pretty smart. All I had were nannies and 'gentlemen's gentlemen'... That's probably one of the reasons I can't remember names. So many people came in and out of my life, it was like a revolving door."

"Believe me, having all five of us under one roof was no picnic," she said. "On top of all that, my mother raised me as a strict Christian good-girl. No parties, nine o' clock curfew, church every Sunday in scratchy dresses and tights, the whole nine yards. Aaaaand... wait for it..." She paused. “I’m still a virgin.”

His eyes bugged. "No!"

"Well... _Technically,_ I'm a virgin."

His brows furrowed together. "What does that mean?"

She pondered how to answer that for a moment. "Basically, that I've done pretty much everything but the actual deed."

"You don't still live with your folks, do you?"

"No."

"Then why haven't you...?"

She shrugged. "When I moved out, I thought about it, but it was just... never the right guy. I was waiting for the right moment and it hasn't happened yet."

"Even though you were going to be married?"

She blinked. "I'm surprised you remember that."

He smiled. "Of course. We're in the club, right?"

"Right," she said, returning the smile. "Even with my ex, it was never _right._ I figured that when I was ready, I'd just know."

"Why would you agree to marry someone you weren't even ready to sleep with?"

She mirrored his one-shouldered shrug. "Because he asked?"

He shook his head. "It's not like I can talk. I normally just date who I'm told to date."

"Then, are you...?"

It was his turn to look scandalized. "Oh, God, no!"

She laughed. "Didn't think so."

They squeezed as much as they could into forty-five minutes, laughing and trading stories. Clara was having such a wonderful time, it actually startled her when _Close to You_ came chirping from her purse. Matt suddenly looked as though his tacos were not agreeing with him.

"What is _that?"_ he asked.

"Ugh... The real world calling," she said. The text message said, _WHY CAN'T I REACH YOU? GET BACK HERE NOW!_ "Apparently, there's no signal in here," she told him as she closed the phone. "I guess I have to get back to work."

"Oh," said Matt, staring at his empty plate. "Um... That is... I mean... I wanted to, uh..."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He had that same uncomfortable look he'd had when she suggested the restaurant. "Well, I just wanted to know if you, perhaps sometime, would maybe like to go out for something that is not entirely unlike dinner..."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Is this something that would be not entirely unlike a date?"

He began staring at the wall above her head. "Not entirely..."

"You're not very good at this, are you? _Why_ are you not very good at this?"

"Like I said, there's usually an intermediary..."

Clara was rather in shock. It sounded like Matt wanted to ask her out... Again! "Would it help if you spoke in the third person?" she asked when she'd regained her powers of speech.

He started to shake his head, then paused and looked thoughtful. "You know..." He straightened. "Matt would like to ask... um..." He halted again. "Celeste?"

"You're way off. Clara."

"Ugh, damn. Maybe it won't work."

A thought occurred to her. "Maybe it will..." she said. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the 'Hello, my name is Clara' sticker, and stuck it to the front of her shirt. "Better?"

He grinned broadly. "Much! Okay, Matt would like to ask..." He glanced at her chest. "...Clara, if Clara would like to go out for dinner sometime."

"Clara wants to know why Matt wants to do this."

"Because Clara makes Matt feel comfortable. And happy."

"Clara is glad she makes Matt feel this way... Would this dinner be tonight?" She felt a little silly continuing the conversation this way, but for some reason, Clara just couldn’t stop smiling.

"Ugh..." He rolled his eyes. "Matt can't. Matt has a date to be at with many people tonight. It's not really a date, though... More like an audition."

"Explain?"

"I told my agent I wanted to date someone 'real.' He's trying to set me up with my publicist."

Clara's eyes went wide. He was going out with Reinette? Ew. "Well, good luck with that."

"I don't really want to," he said, hurriedly.

She blinked. That almost sounded like he didn't want her to think he was playing her. "Then why are you going?"

He squirmed, looking uncomfortable again. "I kind of already said I would. I'm going over there after this to finalize things. In all honesty, though... I'd really rather spend more time with you."

Clara, unable to stop herself, blushed. "Why?"

He tilted his head at her, curiously. "You really don't have that great an image of yourself, do you?"

"This from the man who has no idea he's hyper-cute." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "I hadn't meant to say that out loud," she said in a rush.

"...You think I'm hyper-cute?" he asked with a boyish grin.

She groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"No, no, don't do that," he said. "You're covering up your hyper-cute face." He sniggered.

"I am _not_ hyper-cute."

"Sure, you are."

"Is this why you'd like to spend more time with me? To torment me?"

"No," he said, seriously. "Like I said, you make me feel comfortable. Normal. With you, I really laugh, I really smile. I don't have to be like _this_ all the time." His face split into the Crest commercial smile she'd seen him display on many a red carpet.

"Doesn't that make your face hurt?"

"Only the first fifty times or so." He dropped the fake smile. "So... Will you come to dinner with me?"

She pretended to think it over. "I'll have to check my schedule..." At his dumbfounded expression, she laughed. "Of course I will."

He smiled, really smiled. "Wonderful. How about Friday night? Eight o' clock?"

"Sounds great."

"And I'm picking the restaurant this time."

She laughed again. "Sure."

 _Close to You_ began playing again and she rolled her eyes.

"I guess I can't keep you from the outside world any longer," he said.

She nodded. "If I stay, I'm risking big trouble."

He laid down a wad of cash on the table, which he didn't bother to count, and they both got up to walk back to their cars. On the way, she peeled the sticker off her shirt and handed it to him.

"Here. Maybe you can stick it on your sun visor, or someplace where you'll see it a lot, and that'll help you memorize it."

He shook his head. "I doubt it. At best, I'll start calling you 'Hello, my name is Clara.'"

They laughed. “I’ll keep it, then,” she said. “A memento.” She unlocked her car door, stuck one foot inside, then turned back to say goodbye. "I'll see you on Friday."

He nodded, then paused. "Wait, give me your phone number so I can tell you where we're going." He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and held it out to her.

She took the sleek black phone, debated with herself briefly, then decided on giving him the number for the silver phone. She received more personal calls on that one. “Here. I put it under ‘Ruined Shoes Girl.’”

He smiled. "You’ve outsmarted me already. And you wonder why I like you. All right. I'll call you soon. I had a lovely time with you today." Without warning, he leaned down and kissed her.

Time slowed. It was just one of those quick, casual, goodbye kisses that a lot of film people do, it couldn't have lasted more than two seconds, but to Clara it seemed like forever. It wasn't anything like the hot, intense kiss she'd given him a few weeks ago, but this one was warm, sweet... and utterly addictive. Even more so than hot fudge. She felt rather dazed when he pulled back.

“Whoa...” she breathed, feeling a bit dazed. “Um... yeah. See you, Matt.”

His mouth was slightly parted, though his sunglasses hid most of his expression. “Uh... yeah,” he said, sounding a little stunned himself. “Cheery bye.”

 _That should be illegal,_ she thought as she sank gratefully into her car.

Matt watched Clara drive off before getting into his own car. He hadn't expected to feel anything with that brief kiss, it was something that had seemed completely natural to him, but he _had_ felt something. It had been surprisingly soft and... familiar.

 _Strange..._ he thought, but let it go. He had an appointment to get to...

Clara didn't bother to check the second text message, figuring it would just be more of the same. Besides, she didn't want anything to bring down her mood at the moment. She'd had a perfectly enjoyable lunch with Matt, he wanted to take her out again, and he'd even kissed her! Sure, she'd kissed him before, but it wasn't the same thing.

She was in such a state of dazed happiness that when she pulled into the car park of her office building, she had to slam on her brakes as someone tore around the corner, tires squealing. Luckily, that person also slammed on their brakes and the two cars avoided hitting each other by mere inches.

Clara leaned her head out the open window and yelled, "What the hell, you idiot?" She had a momentary surge of fear when the car door opened, but it turned out to be Rory. She blinked. "Rory? What the hell are you doing out here?" She noticed then that his face was as white as a sheet. "Rory? What's going on?"

"Clara, where have you been?" he asked, clearly panicked. He seemed slightly out of breath, and his rapid talking wasn't helping matters in that area. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon, it said you were outside the service area, and after I gave her the news, she got so angry--"

"Slow down," she said. "What's the problem? Did Reinette find out that I was actually eating lunch on my lunch break?"

Rory completely missed the joke. He was dead serious. "Clara, she’s in trouble!"

Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Rose? "What?"

"Reinette's hired someone to kill Amy!"

* * *

The Doctor’s feet sank into the newly fallen snow, crunching on the ice beneath, as he hurried along the tree line, looking for any sign of Rose. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Rose! Rose, can you hear me?”

Jackie, from a few feet away, also kept her eyes trained into the trees. While the snow made the area quite light, the forest area near the house was dense enough that finding someone on sight alone was difficult. “I can’t believe you left the door unlocked!” she snapped at him.

“We were _both_ going to the garage, Jackie, _you_ could have locked the door, too.” Louder than before, he shouted, “Rose! Answer me!”

‘She doesn’t have any winter clothing,” said Jackie, wrapping her arms around herself, despite the jacket she wore. “She could be freezing to death out here!”

“ALL RIGHT!” He stopped and closed his eyes, taking a breath. “Look,” he said, calmer. “I’m just as worried as you. More so. She’s my mate.” He pointed back at the house. “You stay here in case she wanders back. I’ll follow her trail.”

“How? The snow’s covered her footprints.”

“How do you think?” he asked, removing his long coat and tossing it to her.

He turned away from Jackie, and quickly shucked his tie, jacket, and shirt. Half naked, he fell silent for a moment, his shoulders hunching in. He groaned as his joints popped then he bent in half with a grunt as his bones cracked, reshaping themselves along with his muscles and internal organs. His form became smaller, his trousers, shoes, socks, and pants all falling off of him as chestnut brown hair sprouted all over his body.

Four feet landed on the snow as the pained groans melted into an animal’s soft panting. Jackie looked into the dark eyes of the wolf as she picked up the clothing left behind by the man.

“Please... Hurry,” she said.

The brown wolf turned and ran off into the woods. As Jackie headed back toward the house, a chilling howl echoed in the distance.

* * *

Rose wasn’t sure where she was. But it was cold. Very cold. Her teeth chattered and her entire body shook. It was white all around her. Was she in Heaven? Were these clouds? Wait, there were trees around her... Not clouds, then. Trees. Forest. Yes. She had come out here for the trees, she was positive of that, it had been very important...

A wolf barked nearby and her heart pounded in her ears, her breath suddenly coming faster. _Doctor... I can... feel you..._ she thought. She tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but fell down as her arms gave out. It was just... so cold. She yawned. She felt so tired...

She blinked her eyes as a large brown wolf swam into her view. She’d never seen it before but it... _he_... seemed familiar. His dark eyes never wavered from her.

“Doctor?” she whispered, unsure.

The wolf whimpered and crouched a few feet away. His body slowly elongated as whimpers became groans which grew louder as the thick fur retreated, revealing smooth freckled skin and a wild head of hair. Joints popped and bones cracked and suddenly--

The Doctor heaved a deep sigh.

“It _is_ you,” she said.

He lifted his head to fix his gaze on Rose. She was only wearing her pajamas, which were soaking wet, and had to be freezing, her lips were blue. “Hello, beautiful,” he greeted, automatically regulating his internal body temperature so he wouldn’t freeze, now that he was bare in the snow. He rose to his feet and went to her, kneeling down where she lay.

“What in the world are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He knew she couldn’t be held responsible for what she did in this state. He reached for her hands and froze when he saw that her fingers were bleeding. His eyes flicked back to her face and panic rose up when he saw her eyes were closed. “No, Rose, wake up! You can’t fall asleep!”

“We needed a tree,” she mumbled sleepily.

He hauled her up against him, rubbing her arms. “What?” He glanced over at the tiny sapling by her feet, a hole in the ground next to it that was slowly being filled with snow. “This little thing?”

“It’s a tree,” she insisted. “It’s almost Christmas. We need one.”

“Why would you dig this out of the ground--”

“It’s what we always do. We pick a tree, we hang ornaments, we sing carols...” She yawned. “We take it home and build a fire and help make dinner...” She yawned again, closing her eyes as she leaned against him.

He struggled to his feet, pulling her with him. “Rose, stay with me, keep talking!”

“But I’m sleepy...” She was almost deadweight in his arms, her legs barely holding her.

“I know you are,” he said. “But you can’t fall asleep. You didn’t need to do this! I would have gotten you a tree--”

“No,” she said, decisively. “Mum and dad always let me pick the tree. I had to do it.”

He sighed. She sounded like a stubborn child. “Fine,” he said, giving in rather than argue over it. “But let’s take it home now and get you out of the cold--”

“It’s for you, Doctor,” she said, so softly that for a moment, he thought he might have imagined it.

“What?”

“It’s for you,” she repeated. Rose lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. Her golden brown gaze seemed almost lucid. “It’s... It’s our first Christmas together.” She yawned again. “I wanted to give you something. So, I picked this one for you.” She smiled. “Happy Christmas.”

“Oh, Rose,” he said, his voice breaking. “Happy Christmas.” He leaned down and picked up the ‘tree’ and handed it to her for safekeeping. Then, he swung her up into his arms. “Come on. Let’s go home.”


	12. Chapter 12

Reinette slapped a copy of The Daily Mail on the table in front of Matt and his agent, Craig, with a thump. An enormous picture across the cover showed Matt and Miss C locked in a passionate embrace in the middle of a dance floor. The headline screamed, "Matthew Grayson Ellef and Mystery Woman!" Below that, a sub-heading read, "Who is she? Are they an item? Find out more inside!"

The blonde scowled, her delicate features completely transformed by what was clearly rage. "It's great publicity," she said. "But it's not _my_ publicity."

Matt shrugged. "That's old news by now." _In fact, why is she so upset by something that happened weeks ago?_ he thought.

"Well, it's got everyone talking!" she said, seeming to become more irate at his lack of concern. “Do you even have Twitter?" She rolled her eyes at Matt's blank expression. “Facebook? Tumblr? Anything? Hashtag MattEllefOMG, ring any bells?" She heaved an exasperated sigh. "Who is she?"

Matt blinked. _She sounds like a possessive girlfriend. Creepy..._ Again, he shrugged. "I don't know. I met her that night."

"I suppose you don't mind being man-handled by a complete stranger!"

He glanced again at the picture. It didn't look like he was being 'man-handled' at all, if ‘man-handled’ was even the correct term in this case... In fact, Matt looked like he was enjoying himself quite a bit. Thinking back on the event, he really had... But when he glanced up at the fuming woman in front of him, he knew instantly he should say nothing of the kind.

Reinette took a deep breath, calming herself sufficiently to continue at a more moderate tone of voice. "All right... It's bad, but it's not irreparable. We can send out a press release for rumor control, pull it off as some kind of obsessed fan, they might wonder why we haven't sent out a release before now, but we can say it was a minor event that we didn't expect to be blown out of proportion--"

Matt looked at Craig nodding his head and bristled a bit. "Oi!" he said. Reinette looked absolutely stunned at his interruption and he took the opportunity to continue. "Until seven-thirty tonight, my personal life is none of your business!"

Her eyes widened, but not in surprise... More like fury. Probably at his... defiance? _Okay, scary._

"As your publicist, it is _every_ bit my business!" she said, her voice climbing again.

He watched in shock as Reinette flew into a tirade about image and the proper way to cultivate it and about all her hard work and how it was all going to waste. _This_ was the woman who had talked to him at the after-party a few weeks ago? She had been catty, sure, but she hadn't been such a bitch. And _she_ was the one Craig wanted him set up with? No, thanks!

"Rebecca, I think you should calm down," said Matt. "Maybe have something to drink?"

At his attempt at placation, she took another deep breath. "Well... All right. I'll have my secretary bring you some coffee." She pushed the button on the intercom attached to her desk... but no one answered. She pushed it two more times to no avail, becoming increasingly more agitated.

Matt could see where this was going. "Look, why don't I get it for you?" he offered. "How do you take it?"

She tossed her head. "Oh, I couldn't possibly drink the swill that's made here."

 _Even though you just offered it to us,_ thought Matt, dryly.

"I have to have a Starbucks grande, double espresso shot, soy latte, half-caf, no whip, light on the foam--"

"--With sugar free chocolate syrup only on top, not mixed in," he finished for her, eyes gone wide.

Her mouth had fallen open slightly in surprise. "Yes... How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess. Craig, can I talk to you for a minute, privately?" he asked, quickly.

"Uh..." He glanced at Reinette.

It apparently took all of her self-control to utter the word, "Fine."

The two men left the room. Finding the secretary's desk indeed empty, they stayed in the abandoned ante-room to talk.

"Craig, I am _not_ going out with her tonight!" Matt said, quietly but with no less urgency. "I don't want anyone to think I am dating her! That woman is a word that starts with 'b' and rhymes with-- Oh, Hell, the word is _bitch!"_

"Which is precisely _why_ you have to go out with her!"

"Huh?"

Craig adjusted his tie, nervously. Matt noticed for the first time that the larger man looked a bit sweaty and uncomfortable. "I have to deal with her, too, you know! Go out with her tonight and that'll be it. If you don't, I'll never hear the end of it!" He started visibly, as though just remembering something. "Is she listening?"

They both leaned over to peer through the partially closed door. Reinette had her back to them and was dialing her phone. After a few seconds, the theme from _Titanic_ began playing from one of the drawers in the secretary's desk. The two men leaned back quickly as Reinette glanced at the door, hearing the sound. They leaned over again as they heard her slam the phone down. She dialed another number, tapping her long red acrylic claws on the desk as she waited, then slammed the phone down with even more force. She dialed once more and hung up almost immediately. Matt was sure the phone was going to break, Reinette had quite an arm on her... She took a deep breath and tried another dial, this time apparently reaching someone, or perhaps she was leaving a message, since she never once paused for breath.

"Williams!" she hissed ominously through clenched teeth. "What the FUCK am I paying you for? Why don't I have a secretary when I'm supposed to have _two?_ Where the HELL are you? If one of you isn't back in five minutes, I swear, you are BOTH out of a job!"

Craig looked back at Matt, pleadingly. "Just the _one_ date, I promise."

Matt thought about refusing... But it occurred to him that this could be a useful bargaining chip. If he told Craig he was going out tomorrow night with someone the agent would consider a ‘nobody,’ he'd get another lecture about image and probably be coerced into canceling. And he definitely did _not_ want to do that. "If I do this date tonight, I get to go on a date I really want on Friday."

He groaned. "Matt, you can't be seen with all these different women! It puts forth the wrong image!"

"Why not? Leonardo DiCaprio does it all the time! And people love him."

"Look where Leonardo's image got him,” he pointed out, sternly. _“The Beach_ and _Celebrity,_ that's where."

"I think it might have been his attitude that did that. Moreover, I really don't care. Either I get my date tomorrow, or you don't get _this_ date tonight, and that's my final answer!"

His agent bit his lips briefly, glanced toward the office where Reinette waited, then nodded. "Okay, deal."

"And you make _sure_ there are plenty of people there tonight! I _don't_ want to be alone with her!"

"I don't blame you..."

In the meantime, when Matt had shown himself into the meeting with Reinette and Craig, Clara had nearly run into Rory downstairs in the car park. All thoughts of returning to work had fled her mind as she zoomed out of the parking lot and onto the road in Rory's car.

"Rory, are you _sure_ Reinette's hired someone to kill Amy?" she asked as he drove dangerously fast. "Are you sure she just didn't _say_ she wanted to? Because she does that several times every week..."

"I'm positive, Clara,” he said, fiercely, barely blinking as he kept his eyes trained on the road. “I pushed the wrong button on the intercom and accidentally overheard her half of the conversation with the guy."

"Well, what did she say?"

"She said 'Kill Amy!'"

"I gathered that! What else?"

"'I don't care what you do with the body' and other things like 'Just charge it on the card I gave you.' I think that's pretty specific!"

"Oh, God..." Rory was really agitated, she could tell in his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the tense line of his shoulders. And while her own heart was racing so fast she was certain she'd have a heart attack soon, she had to get him to calm down a little or he was going to get them killed. "Rory, you have to slow down!"

"Slow down? Are you crazy?"

"No, I just don't want to die!"

"And I don't want Amy to die!" He took a deep breath, somehow finding the ability to loosen his grip just slightly. "Luckily, since he's pretending to be an ex-client of Reinette's, I had to fax the specs over to Amy's office. I know exactly where he's meeting her. The expressway will be packed, but I know how to get there using side streets."

"Why in hell would Reinette do this? I mean, I know they're not best buddies or anything, but still, this seems a little extreme!"

He winced. "I... had to tell her some bad news."

Clara felt something heavy and cold settle in her stomach. "What bad news?"

"I found out today that Reinette's not in the front running for the promotion anymore. In fact, she's even below that guy in the office's east wing who's been over budget every quarter for the past two years."

"And she isn’t having _that_ guy killed, too?"

Rory looked uncomfortable. "There's more... The movie theater ran out of soda."

She blinked. "What?"

He made a frustrated gesture. "There were soda issues and Amy deliberately needled Reinette... It's kind of a long story."

"You can tell it to me later, but I still don't see why..." She glanced at Rory who was looking more uncomfortable than ever. "More?"

He nodded, but it looked like he especially didn't want to tell her this part. "I... accidentally called Reinette 'Amy.'"

"Rory! You didn't! When?"

"It's... kind of embarrassing..."

"Rory! How _could_ you call her that when you're doing _that?"_

"Well, it's not like I get much out of it when we do it," he said, frustrated. "I was... imagining something more pleasant-- I really don't want to talk about--" He stopped as something suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, my God, _call_ her! We're sitting here like idiots and you've got a ton of mobiles on you! Call her! Warn her! Now!"

"I'm on it!" she said, already dialing one of the phones and starting to panic even more. What if Amy was dead somewhere already and she could have prevented it by thinking to call her? _Amy, don't die! Please pick up the phone!_

After a couple of rings, there was a loud crackle of static and Clara dimly heard the phone pick up. "Hey, hon!" Amy's voice could barely be heard over the interference.

"Amy, thank God!" said Clara, relieved. "Where are you?"

"...Hello, Clara, are you still there?"

"Hello? HELLO?" Clara began yelling into the phone. "Are you inside a building or something? Listen, if you are, get out of there!"

"What? Yeah, I'm in a building, a lift, actually, but I totally missed what you said after that." The static kept Amy's voice fading in and out. "I can't talk anyway, I'm meeting a client."

"No! NO, Amy, you have to get out of there! Get out of there! It's a set up!"

"What?"

"A set up! A set up! IT'S A TRAP!"

"A what?"

The static suddenly cleared and Clara screamed with everything she had, "REINETTE'S SENT SOMEONE TO KILL YOU!"

The line went dead. Clara looked at the screen of the silver phone in horror. The signal had been lost.

Rory looked at her, frantic. "Did she hear you?"

"God, I hope so... Are we almost there? I could try texting."

"It's just up the street."

"Okay, park in the loading zone, keep the car running, I'll run in and try to find her and pray to God I don't get killed in the process..."

As Rory pulled up to the white curb, Clara was about to open her door when Amy came running out of the building.

"GET IN!" both of them yelled. Amy wasted no time and they sped off.

Amy was very out of breath as she laid sideways in the backseat. Clara craned her head around to look at her, searching for any signs of blood.

"I'm okay," said Amy, gasping for air. "But you're right... The guy had something that looked a little too suspiciously like a gun. And he saw me. Just as I got back on the lift, he came out of an office and started running toward me. I don't know if he waited for the lift to come back up or not, but the stairs were on the other side of the building, so either way, we have a little time to--"

"We haven't lost him," Rory cut in, suddenly, eyes on the rear-view mirror. "We're being tailed." He indicated the glove compartment. "Clara, there's a pen and paper in there, get his plate number!"

She went to do just that, but frowned when she looked at the frame around the plate. “It's no good, it's a rental car."

"Well, get it anyway, we can at least try and trace who rented it!"

Clara doubted that even if he had rented it himself, he wouldn't have used his real name, but she took down the plate number anyway and stuffed the paper in her purse. As she did, she noticed that the black phone was blinking. Automatically, she flipped it open and saw she had a missed call from the office. "Oh, shit..."

"What?" both Rory and Amy asked.

"I forgot about Reinette."

"Huh?"

"Rory, where's your phone?" she asked, trepidation building.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled it out. She grabbed it and, as she suspected, his was turned off. She pressed the little red button and instantly, the device vibrated. One missed call, one message.

She didn't want to, but she checked it anyway. Reinette's voice came through the speaker and Clara paled. "Rory... We're in trouble." She hung up the phone and stuck it in the drink holder. "If one of us doesn't get back to the office, we're both out of a job."

"Who cares?" he said, vehemently. "She can take her fucking job and she can shove it up her--"

"No, Rory!" said Clara. "If we're fired, that means we can't look for evidence!"

He sobered at that. "Oh, yeah..."

She glanced behind them at the rental car, which was currently being held up by a lorry which was trying to merge, then pointed at their approaching office building. "Look, just slow the car down so I don't break my neck and I'll jump out and go back."

"All right," he said. "I'll drive around and try to lose him. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay." She looked back at Amy and reached over to squeeze her hand. "Be safe, all right?"

Her friend nodded. Clara hurried out of the car and they drove off again, tires squealing. She ran into the building, having no idea whether or not their 'five minutes' was up. To Reinette, 'five minutes' usually meant 'this second.'

As she headed for the lift, she ran directly into Matt, who was just stepping off. His smile was completely disarming as he steadied her by the shoulders. Oh, he looked so good... And relieved?

"We seem to be making a habit of this," he said. She forgot she was supposed to be moving when he hugged her tightly. "Your boss is a complete and utter raging tyrannical bitch," he murmured next to her ear. "And I can't wait for tomorrow."

She stared after him as he began heading for the front doors, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Hey, how did you...?"

He grinned. "There's only one person I know of who drinks a grande, double espresso shot, soy latte, half-caf, no whip, light on the foam, with sugar free chocolate syrup only on top, not mixed in. You better get up there, by the way," he said, as the doorman opened the door for him. "She is really upset."

* * *

Amy climbed over the passenger seat and settled herself into it. “Where exactly are you taking me?” she asked Rory as she looked behind them, trying to see how much of a lead they had on the pursuing car.

“Exactly?” Rory shook his head. “No idea. Roughly? Somewhere I can drop you off at, where I know he can’t find you easily... It’s too dangerous for you to stay in the car. I’ll draw him away and come back for you later.”

“Isn’t that dangerous for you?”

“I’m not the one Reinette said to kill. I’m too valuable to her at the moment.” He chanced a glance in her direction. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“Rory...”

“I don’t see him,” he said, looking in the rear view mirror. “I think he’s a couple streets back.” He made a sudden right turn and headed into the residential area of a university, driving through the packed parking lot. “You can hide here somewhere, the dorms all look alike. Call me when you get somewhere safe.”

He slowed the car and stopped near the curb. Amy turned his face to hers and kissed him, fast, but firmly. “You better not get shot,” she said, before she opened the door and ran into the maze of dorms.

Rory sped off.

Amy tried not to take too long, in her search for shelter. She didn’t want too many people to see her, in case someone asked around later on. So, she stuck to the shadows and the outer corners of the dorms, hurrying along the cinderblock wall, until she found what looked like some kind of fraternity or sorority house. There were three symbols above the door, but Amy had never studied Greek. It was tucked away, hidden mostly by two other dorms nearby, and best of all, the screen was closed, but the door was open.

“Hello?” She knocked tentatively on the screen door, then opened it. “Hello? Anyone here? Mad woman being chased by deranged psychopath! If you don’t want me to come in, say so!” She stepped inside and closed the screen door and the wooden door. “Well, I guess if they didn’t want anyone trespassing, they would have locked the door.” She figured she could wait there until the coast was clear and then call Rory once she’d found a better place to hide.

She took a few more steps into the large main room, until the _smell_ stopped her in her tracks. Her face screwed up and she covered her nose with her sleeve.

“Oh. My. God. What _is_ that?” Instantly, she went back to the front door and opened it back up. She could see now why they had just the screen closed.

Going over to the couch, she found the source of at least some of the bad smell, coming from a large flat box. “Was this... pizza?” She lifted the lid of the box and shut it again at once as the stronger smell almost made her want to faint. “It’s flat, so I’m guessing pizza.” Looking over her shoulder, she found an opening in the wall that led to a kitchen where a large black rubbish bag served as the bin. She tossed the old pizza box inside.

Also on the couch was a greasy brown paper bag whose contents made her grimace. “You have ceased to be food and have migrated to science project. Don’t make that face at me, you’re going to a better place where you can run and play with all the other science projects.” She stuffed it into the rubbish bag.

Lastly, for the couch at least, there was a large bowl of-- “EW! Oh, my God, I think that one moved.” She picked it up with the tips of her fingers. “In the bag, in the bag, I’m not even going to try to save the bowl. Old ramen does not make a good pet! Bad ramen! Bad! Down boy!” She shuddered at the gloppy noise it made as it slithered into the bottom of the bag.

Suddenly feeling like she might, understandably, be sick, Amy looked about for a door that might lead to the toilet. When she found it, she covered her mouth as her gorge rose. “Oh, fuck... I’m gonna have to clean this before I can use it... God help me...”

* * *

For the rest of the day, Clara pretended to work while searching for evidence around the office. Reinette gave her a ton of work to do, none of which she got accomplished, but Clara had heard the lecture about her incompetence so many times, it was just background noise. She found, however, that she was really understandably nervous around Reinette now, and although she knew her boss wasn't stupid enough to start having people killed right and left, she jumped each time she thought Reinette was on to her.

It was really difficult not to say “nothing” when Reinette asked what she was doing going through her paperwork. If she acted out of the ordinary, Clara knew she was toast, so she’d said "Just trying to wade through this crap fiesta you call an organized desk." Reinette was expecting Clara to be harmlessly flip as long as she wasn't in front of clients. She couldn't start being ‘yes, ma'am, no, ma'am’ all of a sudden. But there was nothing more difficult than to pretend everything was normal when she was worried to death over the life of her best friend.

It was at the end of the day and Reinette, Lynda, and Christina had all gone home early when Rory trudged back into the office, alone.

"Where's Amy?" she asked immediately. At his panicked look, she added, "Don't worry, they're gone."

He breathed a slight sigh. "I drove into Woods University and dropped her off by the dorms. He was a few streets back, I know he didn't see her get out of the car, because he continued to tail me for an hour."

"What did you do to lose him?"

He actually half-smiled. "I drove through a speed trap. He nearly rammed into me when the police stopped him and pulled him over."

Clara smiled, hugging him tightly. "Rory, you're a genius!" He blushed. "All right, then did you go get her?"

He shook his head. "Way too dangerous. If he was watching for my car, I’ve might’ve gotten tailed again and led him right to her. Amy said she'd call when she got to a safe place. Then maybe we can take your car." He held up his mobile. "I'll have this on constantly until she calls. Did you get anything from this end?"

She shook her head, regretfully. "Not a thing."

“Damn it!" he exclaimed, banging his fist on the desk. "That means we have to get Reinette to talk." He glanced at the open appointment calendar on the desk with all of the itinerary for the month. "We know she's going to be at the Canary Club tonight to be seen with Matt Ellef," he said, slowly. "I'm supposed to go with her. You know, arm candy til they meet up. I can probably get her to talk and say _something,_ but it's better if there's more than one witness. Can you be there, incognito?"

For a moment, Clara wondered how she could ever get into an exclusive club, much less be there incognito, before sudden inspiration hit.

"I need to make a phone call... But I'll be there."

* * *

"Hi, I'm here for Jane," said Clara a short car ride later. "I know the salon's closed, but she should be expecting me..."

The man with short, frosted hair smiled at her. "Honey, you're looking at her."

She blinked. The smile, the eyes, sure enough. "Jane?" she asked, taken aback.

"It's really simple, sugar. Jake like this, Jane otherwise."

"Got it."

"Now, what's going on?" he asked. "You sounded so upset on the phone..." He glanced at his watch. "Actually, tell me while I work. I'm assuming you don't have much time."

"I'm sorry to ask this of you," she said, coming into the salon and heading for the chair she'd sat in before. "But you did such a good job before and--" She stopped as she stared at one of the walls which boasted a blown-up picture of her and Matt on the cover of The Daily Mail. "You had it framed?"

"Of course," he said, draping her in a cloth. "I always frame my best work. Now, tell me what's got you all up in arms."

She gave Jake the nutshell version.

He paused, box of hot rollers in hand. "Where did you say you needed to be at?" he asked.

"The Canary Club."

An amused smile lit his face and he put the hot rollers away, instead bringing out lots and lots of bobby pins. "I know exactly what to do."

* * *

Clara never thought, in her entire life, that one day she'd be dressed in a tiny sparkly red dress, in a razor-cropped pink wig, with strappy rhinestone heels on her feet, stuck inside a huge gilded birdcage for all to see, playing a go-go dancer.

 _Yes, mum,_ she thought. _This is what I went to college for._

As she moved to the loud music, she thought back to how she got there...

* * *

"Incognito, right?" said Jake. "If they didn't recognize you last time, they won't recognize you tonight. Leave it to me."

He fitted her with a really good wig that he applied with spirit gum near the front, so if she moved her head, her dark hair beneath wouldn’t show. Underneath the pink wig, Jake had twisted up her hair into many pin curls set with bobby pins. With the wig over them, it felt a little like having a pineapple for a scalp.

Jake brought out a tiny red dress spangled with silver sequins, which she again didn't think was going to fit, but it made her look extremely curvy. Of course, the pushup bra and body shaper helped. She still had no idea where he got these clothes that seemed to fit her perfectly; they couldn't be his, the two of them were no where near the same size.

After he did her makeup and painted her lips a shiny bubblegum color, he brought out the same rhinestone shoes as she hooked fishnet thigh-high stockings to a garter belt.

"Those again?" she asked. "My feet haven't recovered from last time."

"Beauty hurts," he said. "And it's either those, or these." He held up a pair of six inch stiletto boots.

She grabbed the heels. "I'll take these."

"Good choice. Now," he said as she sat down to put them on, "when you get there, go to the back door. They might let you in on sight, but if not, just ask for Leon. He'll show you where to go and you take it from there."

Clara stood up. "Got it."

"Let's see how you look!"

They both went to the full length mirror at the end of the salon. She stared at herself for a long moment.

"I feel like a bad go-go dancer."

"How you feel is irrelevant. How do you think you _look?"_

"I look like Natalie Portman in _Closer!"_

Jake nodded, sagely. "My work here is done." He patted her shoulders. "Trust me, sugar, you look gorgeous. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Well, no." A thought occurred to her. "Oh! How much do I owe you?"

Jake looked scandalized. "Nothing, sweetheart. You're my project." He winked at her. "I have my reasons."

Before Clara could answer to that, a cab pulled up in front of the double glass doors and Jake took Clara’s hand to lead her outside. "Now, as I send you on your way, remember what I said about hiding in plain sight."

"Shine so bright you blind her."

"Right." He handed her into the cab and leaned down to the driver's window. "On me, okay, Kevin?"

The driver winked at Jake. "You got it."

Jake grinned at Clara. "Hope you find what you're looking for."

And the cab drove off.

* * *

A small group of young men gathered around the large couch in the center of the common room of the Beta Eta Pi dormitory. A beautiful redhead was sound asleep on the cushions, her hands hanging off the edge of the couch, still encased in yellow rubber gloves. She snored softly.

A tall, skinny fellow with thick horn rimmed glasses gestured toward the unexpected visitor. “You just... found her like this?”

A large bloke in a rust colored rugby jersey nodded his ox-like head, his fluffy brown hair waving as he did so. “Uh-huh. And the whole dorm was cleaned.” He glanced at the other guys. “What should we do with her?”

A guy dressed in a black trenchcoat and wearing a ton of guy-liner crossed his arms over his chest, his black hair, as always, falling over one eye. “Call the police.”

“What are you, an idiot?” asked the first guy. “There’s a living, breathing woman in our dorm! Of her own accord! When Christmas comes early, you don’t whip out your pocket calendar!”

A guy wearing a grey sweatshirt that barely covered his round belly and looked like it was sprinkled with cheese dust spoke up, “Dude, she threw out my pizza and alphabetized my ramen! She had no right!”

From behind them came the sound of an XBox being booted up. “She got the cheese off of my controller buttons,” said one of them whose dark hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in several days, the way it was sitting flat on his head.

The goth kid made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes. “Could you step away from the video games for perhaps one minute? We’re dealing with an intruder!”

The arguably most normal-looking one with large eyes like two blue marbles and feathery blond hair leaned over the back of the couch, taking a closer look at the woman. “I think she’s cute.”

“Of course you do. She’s female,” said the nerdy one, running a hand through his slightly too-long brown hair.

The screen door opened and a guy wearing neon green headphones over his orange hair and mismatched neon clothing shambled in, looking like he’d been out all night long. “Hey dudes, did I miss the memo? What’s with the meeting?” He sat down on the couch, right on top of the girl, who emitted another snore.

“Well, numbnuts, if you hadn’t noticed, there’s a strange woman beneath your arse,” said the nerd.

The raver looked down and startled when he saw the redhead stretched out on the couch, apparently completely unaware that someone was sitting on her. He carefully got up and off of her, awkwardly playing with his many beaded bracelets. “Are we keeping her?” he asked.

“She’s a WOMAN, you imbecile,” said the goth. “Not a bat or a tarantula...”

“Okay, Goth Boy, you are the weirdest fucker ever,” said the large kid in the dirty sweatshirt who was still going through his newly organized ramen.

“This from the human rubbish disposal.”

From across the room, the muscular rugby player called to the others. “Uh, guys... You need to come and see this.”

The six others shuffled over and looked into their shared toilet. Collectively, they gasped, creating enough suction that the shower curtain, which was actually WHITE, waved a bit in the breeze. They all stood, mouths open, until the goth broke the silence.

“She is a dark angel of mercy,” he said, reverently.

The nerd rolled his eyes. “Glad she has _your_ vote of confidence.”

“But why is she here?” asked the young blond one. “And why’d she do all this?”

“Good questions,” said the nerd. “We should try to wake her up.”

“Wake her up?” the goth repeated. “She didn’t wake up when glowstick boy sat on her!”

“We could try kissing her.” Everyone looked at the blond guy. He blushed. “Just a thought.”

“Yeah,” said the nerd, sarcastically. “That’ll be plan B.” He leaned down and shook the girl’s shoulder. “Hello? Uh, miss? Wake up, please!”

She snored.

The guy at the game console took off his headset, stood up, and wheeled over with his Heely shoes. “Let me try.” He cupped his hand around his mouth and said loudly, “Hey, you’re gonna be late for school!”

“Late for school?” asked the young guy.

He shrugged. “It always worked when my mom did it to me.”

“Idiot,” said the goth, pushing him out of the way. _“I’ll_ wake her up. Help! Fire! Murder!” he shouted, dramatically, but the girl just snored away. It was pretty impressive.

“We _could_ just let her sleep,” said the blond one. “She’ll wake up eventually on her own.”

“What if she sleeps through the night?” asked the nerd. “I don’t think she wants to wake up to seven naked men walking around!”

With a snort, the redhead sat straight up. “Naked men?” She blinked at the group of guys standing around her and screamed.

The guys all screamed back.

A moment of silence and then everyone screamed all at once.

Amy pulled it together first. “STOP IT! STOP SCREAMING! STOP SCREAMING!” As calm once again descended, she looked at each of them with wide green eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“We LIVE here,” said the nerdy looking one. “Who are YOU and what are YOU doing here?”

In a rush, the reasons why she was sleeping in a strange dormitory came back to her. She shoved a hand through her disheveled hair, realized she was still wearing the rubber gloves, and peeled them off. “Right. There is a very simple explanation for all of this... Which you won’t believe for a second.”

“We almost didn’t believe we were in the right dorm,” said the nerd. “Try us.”

“Okay.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m being chased by a hitman, and my boyfriend dropped me off here to find a place to hide while he threw him off my trail.”

The guy in the ‘Legend of Zelda’ t-shirt said, “I think I just played a game like that...”

The goth nodded. “Yeah. I’m calling the police.”

Amy held out her hands as the kid reached for his mobile. “No! He’ll probably be watching for that! You call the police and he’ll know exactly where I am!”

“Why don’t you just go home?” asked the nerd, who seemed to be mostly in charge of the strange group of blokes.

“Oh, yeah,” said Amy, rolling her eyes. “Because that’s just the FIRST place he’ll look! He’s expecting that! Unless he KNOWS that I know he’ll be expecting me to go there, in which case I SHOULD go there because he’ll assume I won’t and therefore he won’t be looking there. Of course, he COULD know that I know that he knows I know, and so I should lay low for a while, which is what I was planning on doing, but then he could KNOW that’s what I was planning--”

The nerd held up a hand. “All right, stop.”

The rugby player rubbed his head. “My brain hurts!”

The goth lifted a pierced eyebrow at him. “You have one?”

“We get it,” said the nerd. “You don’t want to leave.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Amy. “This place? This paradise? HELL YEAH, I want to leave, but I can’t, or I might DIE.”

“Guys,” said the blond fellow. “It sounds like she might really be in trouble.”

“Listen to that one,” said Amy. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

“If she IS in trouble,” said the goth, “then we really do need to call the police. Because hitmen KILL people. People like US.”

“But that’s the thing!” said Amy. “If I stay, he’ll never know I’m here.” She was met with a few blank stares. “Think about it.”

“That’s kind of a tall order for most of this group,” said the nerd.

“Listen, what’s your name?” Amy held up a hand before she could get a response. “Scratch that. I don’t want to know. The less I know about all of you, the better.” She looked at the nerdy kid in the Coke-bottle glasses and pocket protector. “You seem pretty smart. I’m gonna call you Einstein.”

“But I’m--”

“Shh!” she shushed him, holding up her index fingers. “Einstein. Why would I lie about all this? Do I look homeless to you?” She waited while most of them, aside from the guy absorbed in his video game, took in her smart, albeit rumpled, business suit. “You have to know that I’m not just looking for a place to stay. I don’t have a lot of choice in this matter. If I had my way, I’d be hiding in a four-star hotel room.”

“It’s not a problem for me to drive you to one,” said the newly-christened Einstein.

“Oh, yeah, and what if he has this area under surveillance, huh? It wouldn’t be too hard to figure out that I wasn’t in the car soon after my boyfriend drove through this area. You take me somewhere else, he sees it, and wham, bam, thank you, I’m dead.” Amy spread her hands. “This is where I was dropped off and so, this is where I need to hide.”

“But why did you clean the dorm?” asked the goth.

“Well... I’m HUMAN,” said Amy, enunciating the word as though they might not have heard it before. “I’m kinda OCD like that. I couldn’t use that bathroom unless I cleaned it. Plus, I was afraid that the pizza was going to bite me, and that ramen didn’t look like it had been filed in like... ever.”

“Why would you _file_ ramen?” asked the round kid in the dirty sweatshirt.

“Why _wouldn’t_ you?” she asked. “Just think, you could be craving a nice oriental chicken, you fix the ramen, take a bite, and BAM! Caliente shrimp! Not cool! Very bad juju!”

The neon kid leaned over to the guy in the sweatshirt. “You understand a word she’s saying?”

“I think so...”

Amy rolled her eyes and got up off the couch. “Oh, for God’s sake...” She walked into the kitchen, most of the group trailing after her. She pulled open the refrigerator and leaned down to see inside.

“What have you got here?” She pulled out a package of potato crisps and a can of squeezy cheese then pointed at the rotund kid. “Grab me eight packages of Beef ramen. That’s under ‘B,’ so it’ll be on the LEFT side of the shelf.” He shuffled over to get what she asked as she turned toward Einstein. “You look like you could boil water. Get the biggest pot you own and be in charge of that.” She then pointed at the guy in the rugby shirt. “You.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Am I going too fast for you here, Bucky?”

“Is... that your name for me?”

“It is now!” she said with a smile. “Look in the freezer and dig out those square green bricks. Those are peas.”

“Oh, my God, we had PEAS?” exclaimed the neon guy. “Isn’t that like... a vegetable or something?”

“A grain,” corrected Amy. “But close enough.”

“Not to interrupt Julia Child at work,” said the goth, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. “But you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not quite grasping the situation--”

Amy threw him a look. “Spit it out, uh...”

He tossed his emo hair out of his eyes. “You may call me Demonixx,” he said, majestically.

Amy snorted. “Okay, you cannot seriously expect me to call you that. I’ll call you... Caspar.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah!” she grinned. “You’re all cute and pale-like.”

Einstein elbowed ‘Caspar’ in the ribs. “Aww, she’s named you. Now, we have to keep her.”

Amy turned and looked at everyone. “I get to stay?”

“I think some kind of arrangement can be worked out,” said Einstein, as Amy went to the stove and retrieved the steaming pot of noodles.

As she started carefully pouring out the water into a big plastic colander, the kid in the cheese-dusted sweatshirt came over to the sink. “Why are you doing that?”

“Um, we’re not eating that part?” she asked.

“But it’s food!”

“You think everything is food, eh?” she said. “You can be Jaws.”

He grinned. “Dudes, I’m like, a shark!”

She looked back at the others she had yet to name. “Let me see... The rest of you...” She tilted her head to look into the common room, where the kid in the Heely’s at the video games had yet to move. “Well, that’s easy. He can be XBox.”

“...Huh?” The kid pulled his headset microphone off of his head. “What? Did I miss something?”

Amy had already moved on to the kid wearing all neon. “You, Mr. Highlighter-hair. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Been out to a club all night?”

“Wow, it’s like we’re totally on the same wavelength!”

“Well, that, and you’ve got about a thousand dead glowsticks hanging off of you. We’ll call you Techno.”

He nodded, grinning. “That is very plur.”

“Very _what?”_ She shook her head. “Nevermind.” She looked over at the young looking kid with the feathery blond hair that made his eyebrows appear almost nonexistent. “And you... What stands out about you?”

“He’s a virgin!” said Bucky, which earned him a punch in the arm from Einstein.

“What have I told you about subtlety?” He rubbed his hand, as though the punch had actually hurt him, rather than the intended victim.

The blond kid made a dismissive gesture. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you’re sweet,” said Amy. “I’ll call you... Virgil. Is that all of you? Einstein, Bucky, Caspar, Jaws, XBox, Techno, and Virgil. Everyone got all that? There will be a test later.”

“Well, who are you?” asked Einstein.

“Amy.” She scrunched up her face. “Aw, crap! No, I’m...”

“Amy?” he asked.

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Okay, Amy,” said Einstein. “How about... if you do the cooking for us... and the cleaning...”

“How about THIS?” she countered, as she began stirring crushed potato crisps into the cooked noodles. “I’ll clean the areas that _I_ inhabit, and if I cook food for myself, I’ll make enough for everyone. Deal?”

Einstein held a hand in the air. “Dorm meeting!” He led the way back out into the common room, where he yanked the headset from XBox, who figured it was time for him to start paying attention again. “All right, what do you blokes think?”

“I think it’s a bad idea,” said Caspar. “She says someone’s trying to kill her. If they aren’t, then she’s out of her mind. And it _could_ be both.”

“We don’t want that kind of drama here,” said XBox. “Drama-free zone, please!”

“But guys,” said Virgil, “no one here cleans or cooks! I think having a couple of rooms clean is better than nothing.”

“And dudes, she just made some kind of weird casserole out of ramen, squeezy cheese, potato crisps, and peas. And some of those flaky green things from the cabinet,” said Jaws.

“You mean herbs?” asked Einstein.

“Yeah!” he said. “It smells brilliant!”

“Where would she sleep?” asked Techno.

“I’ve got a single,” offered Virgil.

“Survey says--” Einstein imitated the sound of a buzzer. “We’re not letting the dormitory virgin sleep in the same room as her.”

Caspar sighed. “Well, if we’re going to do this and she’ll clean the room she inhabits, put her in the common room. She didn’t seem to mind the couch.”

“So,” said Einstein. “She’ll clean the kitchen, the common room, and the toilet... Plus she’ll cook occasionally.”

“She’s the best roommate ever,” declared Jaws.

“I like her,” said Bucky with a big grin.

Einstein lifted his eyebrows. “You all realize, this means no walking around starkers whenever you want and everyone has to close the toilet door.”

Techno grumbled about that a bit, but whether it was because of the restriction on being naked or closing the toilet door, no one asked.

“And if the university finds out about this, we’re all dead,” Einstein continued. “So it also means no inviting anyone over.”

Caspar cast a glance at all of them and shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that, moving on.”

“And she’s hands-off to all of us,” Einstein finished. “Pretend like she’s your sister, got it?”

They all cast side-long looks at each other and grudgingly assented to this last rule.

“Then we all agree? She stays?” As they all nodded, Einstein turned to the kitchen and called, “Amy? You can stay.”

She came to the entry into the common room, a big smile on her face. “Oh, my God, thank you! Time for the Happy Dance of Joy!” She began humming her own tune and popping and locking to the beat. Techno, at least, seemed into it.

“All right! Party!” he said, joining in with some moves of his own and adding a dub-step beat to her song.

Caspar shook his head. “Yeah. This was a great decision, _Einstein.”_

“Shut it, _Caspar.”_

“Is she having some sort of attack?” asked Virgil as he watched Amy ‘dance.’

“No, I have a feeling this might be normal for her,” said Einstein.

“This is going to be one interesting term.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some NSFW elements.

The bouncer at the back door of the Canary Club chided Clara for being late, which she didn't understand. Leon turned out to be a huge man with three days worth of stubble on his face who brusquely led her out to the main floor of the club, which looked a little like a scene out of _The Birdcage._ It was then she saw a bunch of other girls, dressed exactly like Clara with different colored wigs, except they were all wearing the tall black boots, and all standing inside gilded cages at the end of long tables. She finally understood the name of the club... It was a go-go bar.

"We lock all the dancers inside for your safety. If you need to get out, give the doorman the signal," he said, demonstrating a whirling motion with his index finger. "In the event of a fire, the doors all open automatically. One of the bouncers will come get you after an hour for your break."

"What do I do, then?" she asked.

"I don't care!" he said, annoyed. "Smoke in the alley, take a piss in the john, dance with the clientele, it's your break, you do what you want, just be back in half an hour."

He opened the door of one of the cages and, really left with no other choice, she hoisted herself inside. Absently, she wondered what became of the girl who was supposed to be dancing in the cage that night.

The cages at the head of the tables only had one door which opened out onto the main dance floor. A low wall separated the cages from the tables they headed, so that if someone got too rowdy with a dancer, she could easily leave, whereas, the person at the table would have to walk all the way around the rest of the tables to get to the floor and the bouncers would get to him before he could ever reach the girl. Clara looked up and saw a sprinkler inside the cage above her head.

 _Oh, God,_ she thought. _I hope that's for safety reasons and not part of the show..._

She looked down at the as of yet empty table she would be dancing for and her eyes widened. How had Jake known she'd end up at _this_ table?

The little card at the center read, 'Reserved for Ellef, party of twelve.'

* * *

That was about forty-five minutes ago. And right at her feet sat Reinette. Next to her was Matt and across from her was Rory, who was doing his best to get some kind of information from Reinette. All of his attempts to get her attention, however, were failing miserably so far. She was far too busy being social with everyone at the table to pay the slightest bit of heed to her assistant.

What was actually pretty amusing was the fact that Rory kept craning his neck and looking around the club, apparently searching for Clara, and he didn't realize she was dancing right in front of him!

Her own attention was divided by turns as she tried to listen to Reinette while she was being distracted by Matt. He kept staring at her periodically and it was a powerful feeling indeed to repeatedly draw his gaze away from the blonde, who was constantly demanding he pay attention to her.

"Reinette," Rory said, on his fifth attempt since they arrived. "There was something I wanted to ask you about--"

"Williams," she hissed, snapping her head at him finally, eyes flashing. "I am not here to talk to _you._ Now, shut up and get me a fresh drink."

He sighed. “Yes, Reinette.”

As he stood up, Matt rose from his chair as well. “I’ll go with you.”

Reinette laid a hand on his sleeve. “Oh, no, Matthew dear, let Williams handle it.”

“No,” said Matt with thinly veiled desperation. “I... I like my drink made... special... custom...” He peeled her hand off of his arm. “I’ll be right back.” Rory and Matt walked off to the bar in a hurry, each of them leaning against it with a sigh.

“All right?” asked Rory.

“I’m in Hell. You?”

“Pit of flames, yeah. You know, this is going to be your fourth fuzzy navel.”

“You’re on your third Scotch.”

Rory nodded. “Touche. Bartender,” he said, signaling a tall man with close-cropped black hair and large ears. “One scotch on the rocks and a cosmopolitan.”

“And one fuzzy navel, please,” added Matt.

“Coming right up,” said the bartender in a Northern accent, setting to work fixing their drinks.

“So, how’d you _really_ end up with this date, Mr. Ellef?” asked Rory. “Or did you actually _want_ to--”

“No!” cried Matt. “God, no. My agent, Craig. He practically made me sign paperwork on it. How’d you end up with this job?”

Rory looked down at the bar and shook his head. “Really bad sexual choices.”

“Wow. Not something I want to hear.”

“Not something I want to tell.” Rory stretched, tilting his head back to look over the crowd.

“Why do you keep craning your neck around like that?” asked Matt. “Looking for someone?”

Rory startled. “Oh! Uh... No. I... have a tennis injury.”

Matt lifted an eyebrow skeptically, but said nothing. The bartender set their drinks before them and Matt dropped some bills in the jar then discarded the little umbrella sticking out of his bright orange beverage. With another dual sigh, the two men started walking slowly back to the table.

“Back to the pit,” mumbled Matt.

“Only a couple more hours to go,” said Rory, trying for a ‘bright side.’

“If I make it that long.”

They each sat down on opposite sides of the table and Rory carefully sat the cosmo in front of Reinette. She gave him an annoyed look.

“About time,” she remarked. “My cigarette needs lighting.”

Clara's eyes narrowed as Rory fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. Reinette was always such a bitch to people she thought didn't matter. To everyone else, she was always perfectly composed, the perfect socialite... Well, this was her chance to tell her off. Confident in her disguise and taking a leaf from Jake's book, she reached down and plucked the cigarette Reinette had just lit from her fingers.

"Can I borrow this?" she asked, sweetly, instantly taking a long drag without waiting for her permission. "Thanks." She even blew the smoke in her boss' face as a finishing touch.

The fury mounting in Reinette's expression was priceless. She was angrier than a wet cat, but she couldn't do anything without losing face in front of everyone. Clara smiled at her wickedly as _Harder to Breathe_ came over the sound system.

_I LOVE this song!_

In time to the music, she dropped the cigarette on the floor of the cage and ground it out with the toe of her shoe, saucily tossing her hips as she did so. Her gaze shifted to Matt almost unconsciously, and suddenly the show she was putting on was only for him.

Her dancing suddenly felt more provocative than before and any self-consciousness she might have felt melted away. She drew her hands through her pink hair and tossed her head, letting herself go. As she danced, she let her hands travel over her body, not explicitly, but suggestively, her fingers just missing the places she silently begged him to touch.

 _Like this,_ she told him with her eyes. _Like this. I want it like this._

His gaze never left her the entire time. And to her continued malicious delight, neither did Reinette's.

When the song ended, Clara saw the bouncer headed for her cage and figured her hour must be up. She looked again at Matt and crooked her index finger at him. Instantly, he made to rise, but Reinette's red-taloned hand came down on his wrist like a shackle.

Clara clucked her tongue at the other woman. "It's not nice to commandeer all of the guest-of-honor's time, honey," she said, mimicking Reinette’s words and tone from the after-party.

Reinette gasped, the fury in her gaze becoming out and out rage. "You-- You--" she sputtered. There was recognition in her eyes now, but not the kind that Clara feared. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded finally.

"I go by Miss C," she said. "But I'm sure you have other names for me."

"One of them starts with a 'c,'" Reinette snarled.

Clara pretended to be offended and mockingly gasped, finding it remarkable just how quickly she could shift into 'Miss C Mode.' "Manners, my dear. Wouldn't want to show an ugly face to all these lovely people, now would you?" She looked at Matt and gave him a sly half-smile. "Mr. Ellef... If you enjoy the company, by all means, stay. If not, I'll see you on the other side." The bouncer unlocked her door and she walked out of the cage. As she left, she tossed a look over her shoulder and saw Matt standing as if in a trance to walk after her.

Two arms suddenly grabbed her around the waist. In the next moment, she was looking up at a vaguely familiar guy with platinum blond hair, effectively trapped against his chest by each of his strong hands.

"Miss C," he said, smiling. "We meet again."

It took her a second before she remembered where she'd met him before. "H-Harry, right?"

He seemed particularly pleased that she recalled. "I hadn't expected to run into you here. I don't suppose you need another ride?" His tone suggested that he had a different sort of ride in mind than the one he gave her last time.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Clara turned her head to see Matt standing next to them and relief surged through her, though she wasn't certain why. There was just something about Harry that unnerved her, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I _do_ mind," he said.

Matt shrugged. "Too bad," he said, echoing Clara's own words from the after-party. And with that, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

Still in 'Miss C Mode' as they walked to the other side of the floor, Clara looked over her shoulder and blew Harry a kiss. "Maybe another time, handsome. Buh-bye."

As a slower song started up, she wrapped her arms around Matt's neck and began moving with him. "Thanks for the rescue," she said.

"I could say the same. Do you work here?"

She laughed. "No. I'm just doing this for... fun." Reminded, she glanced at the table, but all Reinette was doing was watching them like a hawk and apparently tossing back a couple of shooters. Rory had gotten up and was standing a little ways away, scanning the crowd and still looking for her. She would have to find a way to talk to him soon... He wasn't getting anything out of Reinette, she was too visible here. Clara didn't want to be stuck in that cage all night, and as she looked up at Matt, she figured he'd rather be anywhere but here, too.

"Are you enjoying your date?" she asked.

His expression crumpled. "No. I'm miserable. This is quite possibly the worst date I've ever been on, and that's counting the one where the girl’s dog honked on me."

"That's what I thought." She pressed herself flush against him and leaned up to whisper in his ear, "Then, are you ready to cut the small talk?"

His fingers tightened on her hip. "Yes..."

"Make your polite good-byes and I'll meet you at the back door. I have to ditch my boss."

"I thought you didn't work here."

"I don't." She swiveled her hips against his as a promise for more and nibbled lightly on his earlobe. She felt incredibly gratified when she heard him take a quick breath. "Five minutes. Don't be late."

As he hurried off the dance floor, Clara went around the other way and got as close to Rory as she dared without alerting Reinette who was currently watching Matt return to the table.

"Psssst!"

Rory's head swiveled around and she beckoned him over. His expression was confused, but he did as she bid.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Did you get anything out of Reinette?"

His eyes bugged. "Clara?"

"Shhh!"

" _You're_ Miss C?" he asked, incredulously, but at a slightly quieter tone. "Do you know how furious Reinette is with you? You know she wants Matt Ellef like no other! She absolutely _hates_ you!"

Clara grinned. "Yeah. It's great, isn't it?”

He looked her up and down, mouth agape. “You don’t even look like yourself,” he said, amazed.

“That’s the whole _point,_ Rory. Now, did you get anything out of Reinette?"

"No," he said. "I've been trying all night, but..."

"I know, I've been watching," she said. "I don't think you'll get anything from her here; she's trying too hard to be the center of attention. We'll have to think of something else."

“Are you sure you looked everywhere at the office?” he asked. “Her filing cabinet? Her desk?”

“Yes, I looked.”

“What about her email?”

“I don’t have her pass codes, _you’re_ the computer guy.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can try to hack in tomorrow, but we need information now. Amy isn’t safe and the longer we wait, the more danger she’s in.”

“Give her a few more cosmos and maybe she’ll loosen her lips?”

He shook his head. “Reinette’s not the informative type when drunk.”

Clara was really at a loss by then. “Well... maybe you could call her and pretend to be the guy?”

“Yeah, because _that’ll_ work.”

She frowned. “There’s no reason to get snippy!”

“There’s PLENTY of reason to get ‘snippy!’”

“Then what the hell do you suggest we do? I’m out of ideas!”

"Well..." said Rory, his gaze slipping to the floor. "We haven't exhausted _all_ of our resources, yet... See, Reinette gets rather chatty after-- Well, _after..."_

For a moment, Clara didn't understand what he meant, but when he continued to refuse to meet her gaze, her eyes widened. She clapped him on the shoulder. "Godspeed, Rory. Take one for the team."

“I don’t want to,” he muttered. “I said I wouldn’t.”

“What else is there?”

"Nothing," he said, sounding utterly dejected. “I’ll do it for Amy." He sighed miserably. “I just hope she can forgive me. I'll call you at midnight. We should be... _done_ by then."

She nodded. "Call me on my home phone," she said, taking his pen from his front pocket and writing the number on his hand. "My cell phones can be traced through the company." She stuck the pen back in his pocket and began heading for the door. "Good luck."

Matt was waiting for her in the back alley with his car running. He was standing at the passenger side, holding the door open for her. She smiled and went to him, grabbed him by the lapels of his sleek black coat, dragged him against her, and locked their mouths together, the cool surface of the car against her back, his warm body blanketing her front. It took no time at all for him to respond, kissing her back like a man starved.

 _Damn, he's so good at this!_ she thought. _If he doesn't get us somewhere private really soon, we're going to ruin the interior of his car and this time I'm way beyond caring..._

It was her who broke the kiss, sliding sideways into the car's interior. After a moment's recovery, Matt ran around to the driver's side and they took off.

She took great delight in knowing he was watching her when he was supposed to be watching the road as she crossed her legs first one way, then the other. Since the car he drove was a stick shift, he was denied the pleasure of touching her in any way, and since there weren't very many cars on the road, opportunities where the car was stopped for traffic lights were also few.

She glanced at the speedometer and sighed. "Do you always drive like a grandmother?" she asked.

"What?"

"You're going ten miles under the speed limit. We're not going to a funeral."

"I just don't want to get pulled over," he said. “I’ve had a bit to drink.”

"If you stay off the main road, you won't be. And what you were drinking was mostly juice." She gave him a slow smile. "But maybe I can help you speed things up..." Leaning over the center console, she ran her hand from his knee all the way up the inside of his thigh, lightly raking her nails as she did so...

The car swerved. Once he'd righted it, the gas pedal hit the floor.

* * *

Since it was still fairly early in the evening, a couple of other people got on the lift in Matt's hotel with them. It was particularly frustrating to stand there next to each other, taking the lift all the way to the penthouse on the thirtieth floor, waiting for the other riders to get off, when all she could think about was... getting _off._

When the first guy got off on the ninth floor, Matt reached over and ran his fingers lightly along the inside of her wrist. She took a quick intake of breath as a shiver swept her from head to toe. When the other guy left them on the fifteenth floor, they wasted no more time.

Matt grabbed her, backing her up against the wall of the lift as his lips hungrily found hers. His hands came down around her arse and, without missing a beat, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt riding up around her thighs. She moaned against his mouth when she felt the silk of her tiny underwear brush against the rigid front of his jeans. She dug her fingers into his dark blond hair, kissing him ferociously. Using the wall for leverage, he let go of her and then his hands were everywhere, nothing had ever felt so delicious. Thoughts of modesty were all gone; they had never even entered her brain. All she knew was she wanted Matt and she wanted him now.

"We can't," he said, tearing his mouth away from hers briefly. "Not here. We're giving the security guys a show." He nodded up toward the corner of the lift where a tiny camera lens sat, its red light blinking.

"We should charge admission," she said, continuing to kiss him.

At last, they reached the top floor without managing to lose any clothing, but Matt refused to put Clara down. He carried her across the hall from the lifts, fumbled with the room card, and got them inside. The journey to the bedroom would have taken too long. He leaned her up against the door and the activities continued with renewed vigor. Blindly, she worked to open his shirt, exposing his chest to her touch. She wanted to feel every expanse of skin with her hands, her lips, her entire body...

He was just reaching around to unzip her dress when he froze.

"M-maybe we shouldn't," he said, unexpectedly.

His words cut through her lust-induced haze. "What?" she asked, sliding down his body to put her feet back on the floor.

"I'm dating someone... Well, tomorrow I'm dating someone. I mean... I _will_ be dating someone on Friday..."

"Yeah, and it's Thursday," she said, reaching up to bring his face back down to hers. She felt him relaxing back into it, but suddenly he pulled away.

"No, I... I think I really like this person," he said.

Clara realized then, he was talking about _her!_ She smiled at him and almost giggled. "I don't think she'll mind," she said, kissing him again.

It took just a little longer, but Matt pulled away for a third time. "I think she might," he said, quietly but firmly.

She was shocked. There she was, his for the taking, and, if the state of his jeans was any indication, he clearly wanted to shag her unconscious... and he wasn't going to. Because of her. But he didn't know that. What was more, he honestly looked really apologetic for taking her this far and then backing off.

"Is it really that important to you not to hurt her?" she asked. She realized after she said it, that she didn't know how she wanted him to answer. Part of her, the part that was incredibly sexually frustrated at the moment, wanted him to say no. But the rest of her desperately wanted him to say yes.

_Okay, if he says no, shag him long and hard into the night, then politely say goodbye on your date since you didn't think it would last anyway. If he says yes, politely say goodbye tonight, hug him to pieces on your date, and hope for the best._

He paused. "Yes, I think it is," he said, sounding as though it had just occurred to him.

 _Believe me,_ she thought. _It's a surprise to me, too. Even if you don't know it._

She nodded. "Mr. Ellef... Matt... You're an incredibly admirable man," she said, smiling. She extended her hand for a firm handshake. "I hope you consider her worth it. Good night."

And with that, she turned and left the hotel room. As she waited for the lift, she expected to feel disappointed, at least in some respect, but instead the feeling that filled her was nothing short of elation.

_He likes me!_

The concierge gave her an odd look when she asked him to call a cab for her. She'd forgotten for a moment that she looked pretty much like a prostitute. Luckily, she had a wad of cash stashed in her bra and a tenner convinced him to dial the number.

She was home well before midnight and after she'd changed out of her go-go dress and into her pajamas, she sat in her armchair by the phone, too worried about Amy to sleep. She figured she'd wait for Rory's call, which came at 12:17am.

She picked it up right away. "Hello?"

"Nothing," came Rory's groggy voice.

"What?" she exclaimed. "I thought you said she was chatty after... you know, _after!"_

"Apparently, that's just for normal shagging. This was angry, violent fucking, Clara. There WAS no _after!"_ He groaned. "I'm sore in places that should _not_ be sore... I feel used, violated, cheap, and dirty. Reinette has this way of just _looking_ at a man and making him feel raped."

"Okay, that's way more about Reinette than I ever needed to know," she said, but was secretly very glad she was not an attractive young man, like Rory. “I’m so sorry.”

"Not half as sorry as I am." He sighed. “I did manage to get one thing out of her.”

"What?"

"Like I said before, she was angry. All she said was, 'I'm surrounded by idiots who can't even do the job they're paid to do.'"

Clara winced. That was a particularly rough blow on Rory, considering what he and Reinette did together. _Okay, she doesn't exactly pay him to sleep with her, but she does pay him to do whatever she says... It kind of adds up to the same thing._ "What does that tell us?"

"It tells us that she's not happy with the job someone did. Which probably means that the hitman, whoever he is, did not succeed in killing Amy."

She sighed. It was a vague hope, but it was better than nothing. "What are you going to do now?"

"Now? I'm going to take a long, scalding shower. Then I'm going to try and think of something else. And I'll probably sit up and wait for Amy to call."

"Nice plan. Goodnight, Rory."

"There's nothing _good_ about it."

Clara didn't think she'd be able to sleep that night, but it seemed like she'd just drifted off when the phone rang again at 3:36am. She picked it up on the second ring, heart pounding. Was she going to feel panic every time the phone rang until she knew Amy was okay? "Hello?"

"It's me."

Amy! Her heart leapt."Where are you?"

"I'm safe. I'm inundated with morons, but I'm safe. It's too risky for me to call you again, just in case she pays the guy to continue the job, but I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure."

"You know my post office box?"

"Yeah."

"You've got the keys to my flat. The keys to my office are there." Amy gave her a list of things to send her, including her laptop. "Obviously, don't mail it from our building."

"No problem." She hesitated slightly. "Hun... You're going to be okay, right?"

"Of course, I am. As long as stupid isn't contagious... I should go. I'll call you as soon as I can. Bye, sweetheart."

"Bye..."

Clara hung up the phone. She wasn't sure what she should be more worried about... Amy, what might happen if Reinette ever found out who Miss C really was, or her date with Matt that night.

* * *

Rose sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with the answering machine cradled in her lap. Since Jackie had come to stay, they’d gotten the phone lines reconnected to the house, in case of emergency, so River or Jack could contact her. A sad frown on her face, she pressed the button to hear the outgoing message.

“Hi,” came the slightly tinny voice of her mate, “you’ve reached the Doctor and Rose. We’re not available right now, so leave us a message.” This was followed by a robotic voice saying, “No new messages.”

Rose sighed deeply and pressed the button again. The same message played and she whimpered softly. Once more, she pressed the button.

“I said, no new messages,” said the machine.

“I don’t want any messages,” said Rose, irritably. “I want the Doctor, you stupid machine.”

She pressed the button, but instead of the message, the machine said, “That is becoming annoying.”

She frowned. “Shut up! You let me listen to the Doctor!” She pressed the button.

“Stop that, you bint.”

Rose growled, her fingers tightening on the small black box. “What did you just call me?”

“You are growling at an inanimate object.”

“I did not!”

“Yes. You did.”

She held the machine up in both hands, lifting one eyebrow. “Are you… SASSING me? You don’t _exist_ unless I plug you into the wall, and you’re giving ME shit?”

“All right, mad human…”

“I am NOT mad.”

The machine ignored her statement. “You have lost your grip on reality. Eventually, your mother and your boyfriend will be forced to kill you.”

She gave the machine a shake. “Shut up! You don’t know shit about… shit.”

“Nicely said.”

“LET ME LISTEN TO THE DOCTOR!”

“Very well.”

The machine played the following, “Hi, you’ve reached the Doctor and my barmy arse bitch, Rose. If you’d like to talk to me, go ahead and leave a coherent message. If you want to talk to Rose, I suggest you ramble some nonsense and she’ll get back to you if she decides to be sane.”

With a frustrated scream, Rose wrenched the machine from the wall and threw it across the room, which cracked the plaster and left a bit of a dent. What was left of the machine, after the plastic had partially shattered, lay broken on the floor.

“No-- No-- No new messages-- new messages-- new-- no new--” A garbled beep signalled the poor object’s death knell.

Rose left the bed and stood over it, triumphantly. “How d’you like me now? Give _me_ shit, you inanimate fuck? How d’you like me now, bitch?!” She picked up the cord and dragged the machine out of the bedroom and down the stairs, where the Doctor was just coming in from outside.

“Oh, hello, beautiful,” he greeted with a smile, pleased to see her up and about.

“Can’t shag now, Doctor, I’m busy!” said Rose, going right past him and into the hallway.

He followed her, confused. “Rose, where are you going?”

“To get the gun out of the pantry.”

“What?”

“It isn’t dead yet,” she said, ominously.

“WHAT isn’t dead?”

She held up the offending piece of plastic by the cord. “The answering machine. It BACK-SASSED me, Doctor. I don’t take sass from something that can be replaced at Best Buy!” She made to turn and head for the kitchen, but he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Whoa, hold on a minute--”

She held up a finger, inches from his nose. “Doctor, I swear, if you try to stop me or tie me up again, I WILL kick your arse.”

Wisely, he removed his hand from Rose’s person. “Okay. Might I just suggest you shoot the answering machine in the backyard? Less to clean up.”

“Will do.”

This time he didn’t stop her from going to the back of the house. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Where the hell is Jackie?”

As though he’d summoned her, the front door opened. He turned to greet Rose’s mother and was stunned to see someone else coming in with her. He moved closer to the foyer, eyes wide and focused solely on the balding ginger-haired man.

“Pete?”

He looked up and smiled. “Theta. You look like a man who could use some help. And possibly a good stiff drink.”

“What… What are you doing here?” he asked, in shock, before a huge grin lit his face. “C’mere you old spacker!” 

Pete stepped forward and hugged the Doctor, whacking him soundly on the back. The Doctor held the older man at arm’s length, as though he couldn’t really believe he was there. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Likewise. I hear I’m going to have to call you my son-in-law soon.”

The Doctor could help the goofy grin that spread across his face at that statement.

“Where is she?” asked Jackie.

“Rose? Oh, she’s out in the backyard, assassinating the answering machine.” He looked between the two and their perplexed expressions. He shrugged. “It apparently gave her sass.”

“Is this as bad as she’s gotten?” asked Pete.

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor. “This is sane in comparison. She’s up and walking around and talking in complete sentences.”

From outside, the sound of a gunshot cracked through the air, followed by Rose shouting, “You asked for it, bitch! You asked for it!”

The Doctor sighed lightly. “I think we’re going to need a new answering machine.”

Rose walked briskly back inside the house and into the hallway, brushing her hands together in a gesture of finality. “Well, that’s the end of that.” She pointed at the Doctor as he came into her line of view. “You! Upstairs! NOW.” She glanced at Pete. “Hi, dad.” She stumbled over her own feet as she whipped around to look again. “DAD?” she repeated, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

Pete smiled, his eyes getting a bit misty as he looked at the woman his little girl had turned into. “Rose. How’s my girl?” He held out his arms and Rose ran into them, hugging the father she’d believed dead for so long. The Doctor tactfully slipped the gun from her grasp and put it into the pocket of his coat for safekeeping.

“Electronics giving you trouble?” asked Pete.

“Just the one.” There was a pause then Rose pulled back, grimacing. “Oh, God... I did something crazy again, didn’t I?”

“Only a little bit,” said the Doctor.

Her attention pulled from her father, Rose turned to the Doctor, upset. “Where did you go?” she demanded.

“There were things we needed, I’m sorry…”

“I could have gone with you!” Rose said.

He stared at her. “Are you serious?”

“Rose,” said Jackie, “it’s not really wise to go out in public at this point. Your moods are too erratic. You’re not fully recovered.”

“Bollocks!” said Rose. “I am NOT a child! And this isn’t some stupid fairy tale where you keep me locked up in a tower!”

“We just want to keep you safe,” said the Doctor.

“If I was WITH you, don’t you think I’d be safe? What about _you,_ Doctor? Harry is still out there, looking for you!”

“Looking for _both_ of us!” corrected the Doctor.

“It doesn’t matter!” said Rose. “Every time you’re out of my sight, I spend each second thinking, what if he finds you? What if I’m not there to protect you? What if you get killed?” She fisted her hands in her hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m completely fixated on you and I’m not _used_ to that kind of shit!”

“Well, I see no reason why she has to stay here,” said Pete.

“Are you barmy?” exclaimed Jackie. “She’s still changing.”

“Can I have a word with you, Jacks?” Pete looked at the Doctor, to signify he’d like a bit of privacy with his wife.

The Doctor put an arm around Rose and began leading her toward the stairs. “Rose, you should lie down,” he said, gently.

“I’m not bloody tired!” Rose said, but she went with him anyway.

“I know, it’s just…” He paused. “You’ve gotten so thin,” he said, softly. “Would you do it for me, please?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” She sighed and began climbing the stairs. “You and those eyes. Come upstairs. I want some company.”

As their voices faded away, Jackie looked to Pete. “I know what you’re going to say, but I swear, she has these lucid moments--”

“Jacks.”

She waved a hand. “I’m fine, I just--”

“Calm down,” said Pete. “I’m here now, you can take things a little slower.” He took her elbow and started for the sitting room. “Come on, let’s sit down and talk.”

Jackie gratefully relaxed into her husband as they sat on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. “She’s not always there, Pete, but the times when she is are starting to get more frequent.”

“You know what the normal procedure would be if she wasn’t our daughter,” he said.

Jackie shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Of course you don’t. But if this _were_ anyone else, you’d be telling Theta to end it, or you’d make them both leave the pack.”

“She’s holding on,” Jackie insisted.

“I’ve been here five minutes, and I can already see that her hold is tentative.”

“Then what are you suggesting we do?”

“It’s time to stop leading her around and let her take hold of her own sanity.” A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “I remember how she was as a girl. She always had to have her own way. Caged up, she has no hope of improving.”

“And if she gets worse?” asked Jackie, her irritation showing. “What do we do? We have Theta kill her?”

“Hell, no!” Pete exclaimed. “She’s our daughter!”

“But you just said--”

“Blood has its privileges. We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. For now... let’s forget about all this and spend some time with our girl and her mate.” He looked out the door toward the staircase. “I want to make sure he’s right for her.”

“She’s stuck with him whether he is or not.”

“Preaching to the choir, love.”

“Knob.” Jackie leaned up and laid a kiss on Pete’s lips, but sighed with concern when she pulled away. “I’m still not certain this is a good idea...”

“All I’m saying is, let her go outside, run and get some fresh air, do a bit of hunting--”

Jackie jumped up from the sofa and stared at her husband in disbelief. “HUNTING?” she cried, aghast. “You want to start her hunting?”

 _“Teach_ her how.”

“Oh, for God’s sake...” She paced to the other side of the room, one hand on her hip.

“Have you even let her attempt a full shape shift?”

“Do you have any idea what the bloodlust would do to her brain? It could destroy her!”

Pete got to his feet, no longer willing to continue the argument sitting down. “It _might_ align her brain and her new sense of what the world is. She is a predator now, and you and Theta have been raising her on tofu!”

“We’ve been doing all we can, just to keep her sane--”

“And how’s that working for you?”

She swung around, eyes narrowed. “You are NOT Dr. Phil and I WILL slap you in the face!”

“You couldn’t catch me.”

She lifted her chin. “Try me, old man.”

Falling back into their familiar banter, Jackie couldn’t help a smile, which made Pete stop and take a breath. “What you’ve done is good,” he said, his voice back to a calm tone. “It kept her from killing herself. But you have to give her some room the breathe and figure things out on her own, too.”

Jackie rubbed her arms, her expression uncertain. “Do you think she’s ready?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” He glanced out of the room again. “The boy’s changed a lot.”

“Yes. He has. But you’ve also been gone for a long time.” She walked back to Pete and he took her in his arms, wordlessly. “Do you think _he’s_ ready?”

“Possibly. I don’t think we’ll have to wait much longer.”

“I hope not,” said Jackie. “For all our sakes.”


	14. Chapter 14

That day at work was the most excruciating Clara had ever endured in her entire career at Gallifrey Advertising. And when she worked for Reinette, Lynda, and Christina on a daily basis, that was saying something. While her work load was no more insane than it usually was, she sat on pins and needles all day, worrying about Amy, and waiting for Matt to call.

 _Okay, don't get all worked up,_ she thought. _Maybe he'll decide against it and not call. Or he could call to cancel. After all, you made him miss out on sex last night..._ She paused. _No. He gave that up and he did it for you._ Her heart pounded. _That means he_ is _going to call! I_ have _to get worked up! My inner fan-girl demands it!_

She dived for the phone each time it rang. Even Reinette was surprised at her unprecedented show of enthusiasm for taking her calls. Not enough to praise her in any way, or let to Clara choose her own ringtone, but still...

Around two o'clock, _Hollaback Girl_ rang from the silver phone beside the computer keyboard. Clara still couldn't stand the song, and yet, all day she'd been hoping to hear it. Later, she would probably look back on this entire afternoon and laugh at her silly behavior. Now, though, she answered the call barely two seconds into the ringtone.

"Clara Oswald," she said, breathlessly.

"Clara! That's it... I've been trying to remember all day."

Her heart rate doubled, the organ leaping joyfully into her throat at the sound of Matt's voice. She glanced at Reinette's partially open office door and cupped her hand around the phone's receiver. "Just a second," she said, softly.

She muted the phone and bolted from the desk, saying "Toilet break!" as she sped past Reinette's office without waiting for a response. She opened the door of a nearby utility closet, the closest empty room, and locked herself inside. Sitting down on a stepladder, she unmuted the phone.

"Matt?"

"I'm here."

She smiled broadly, unable to help herself. "It's so good to hear from you," she said, then promptly sneezed. The dust in the closet was getting to her sinuses a bit.

"Gesundheit. You're not sick, are you?"

"No!" she said, adamantly, then toned it down a little. "No, I'm not sick. It's just... I'm kind of in the supply closet and there’s dust."

"Why are you in the supply closet?"

"If Reinette finds out I'm talking to you, she's going to want to know why. If I tell her you're taking me out... You _are_ still taking me out?"

"Of course."

"If I say that, I'm toast. I can't wait by the way," she said, smiling. "And if I lie and say you're calling for her, then _you're_ toast, because then you'll have to talk to her."

"I'll need to talk to her sometime," he said. "I have to tell her my perfectly concocted excuse for not wanting to see her, socially, anymore."

"Which is?"

"That I don't think it's wise to date someone who works for me." He sounded pretty proud of himself.

Clara nodded. "That could work. Reinette will be torn between wanting you like no other and her pride as an advertising agent. But she'll undoubtedly point out that she won't be working for you forever. The contract for promoting this film is up in a few weeks."

"I'm not worried. I plan to be otherwise occupied by then." Before Clara could ponder too deeply the implications in that statement, he went on. "Now, about our date tonight..."

"Yes!" she said, excitedly. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he said, smugly. "Which is why you have to tell me where you live so I can pick you up."

"A clever ploy." She gave him the address to her little flat. "Don't blink as you go by, otherwise you might miss it."

"Very funny."

"How should I dress, since I have no idea where we're going?"

He pondered for a moment. "Dress nice."

She grinned. Since he'd only ever seen her in the sweats and t-shirts she wore to work, he probably thought even if they were going someplace casual, he should tell her to dress up. "I don't always dress like a slob," she said. "Does that alter the dress code at all?"

"No," he said. "Please dress up. It’ll be someplace nice. And it hasn't bothered me when you've dressed down. You look cute in sweats."

"You are lying through your teeth, but it's very sweet of you."

He laughed. "What time do you get off work?"

"Five. I will absolutely leave at five, no matter _what_ Reinette wants me to do."

"All right. How about I pick you up at seven?"

"Great."

"I'll see you then, Candy."

"Clara."

"Right. Clara."

"I can't wait." She hung up the phone and exited the closet. As she headed back to her desk, she knew the day was going to drag like no other. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

She got home around six, despite what she had said to Matt. Reinette would not listen to Clara's repeated statement that she was no longer obligated to be at work past five. Even so, she didn't get to leave until after five-thirty. But an hour was plenty of time in which to get ready for Matt. Or, at least, that was what she thought.

The entire contents of her closet lay strewn around her room by the time she'd figured out what to wear. Since her weight had been fluctuating so much in the past couple of months, her clothes were many different sizes. All of her especially sexy clothes were now too small for her, and most of the other dresses in the closet were either too big or frumpy, or both. At last, she pulled out a little black dress with pink and purple flowers and white pin-dots from the pile. It wrapped around her, cinching in her waist, dipping low at the top, and high at the bottom, revealing lots of cleavage and leg. It was a little small, but control top pantyhose took care of that problem. And it was the only thing she considered to be remotely appropriate for tonight.

She washed her hair with cold water so it would be shiny, a trick she'd learned from Rose. But because of the cold water, blow drying took forever and she knew she wouldn't have enough time to flat iron it. Her flat brown hair couldn’t decide whether to be straight or wavy, so she put it back in a clip.

The job Clara did on her make-up was, admittedly, not the best. Since she hardly ever bothered with it, it felt like she was wearing about a pound and a half of the stuff on her face. In fact, she might have been... She was never sure if she put enough on. _How does Jake make it feel so weightless?_ As she looked at herself in the mirror, she sighed and picked up a washcloth, beginning to scrub it off.

 _Matt wants to see_ me _tonight, not Miss C. I can just be myself. Be real. He likes that._

In the end, all she went with was a little mascara so her eyelashes were actually visible and a great lipstick that Amy had bought for her a while back. She looked at the finished product and nodded. All right, so it was no where near the masterpiece Jake turned out, but she looked like Clara and she looked pretty darn good. She just hoped Matt would think so, too.

She was just slipping on her shoes when the doorbell rang. Her heart thudded loudly and she struggled to calm down as she picked up her purse and went to the door. _Okay, so Matthew Grayson Ellef is taking you to dinner... It's nothing to have a heart attack over. Just calm down. The last thing you want is to toss your lunch all over him._ Mortified by just the thought of that happening, she almost tripped on the rug in front of the door, but luckily steadied herself and, calmly, she turned the knob.

Her mouth watered at the sight of him in his black jeans, collared white shirt, and designer jacket, and her heart started pounding all over again. Now, here was something she had _not_ thought of. Her body was starting to remember what had almost happened the night before and suddenly the urge to jump on him and start going at it like wild, sweaty monkeys was nearly overwhelming.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression becoming somewhat concerned. _Oh, no,_ she thought. _I think he just said something and I completely missed it!_

"I-I'm sorry," she said. "You kind of... startled me. You look..." _Delicious._ "...wonderful."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "I was actually just saying the same thing."

"Oh... Well, since I missed it, would you mind saying it again?"

"Not at all, it bears repeating." He extended a large pink Gerbera daisy decorated with a red ribbon to her. "You look beautiful."

She blushed and took the flower, grinning goofily. "Thank you..."

"So, this is your flat?" he asked, leaning over and trying to see inside.

Immediately, she came outside and closed the door. "It's a mess, you don't want to see it, trust me." Clara hadn't ever had a chance to clean up all of her wedding plans and samples since the whole fiasco. She didn't want Matt to see those, as well as the rest of the mess scattered about.

"All right. Shall we go?" He gestured to his car at the curb. "I trust there isn't any coffee on your shoes this time?" he teased with a grin.

"There wasn't any last--" She nearly swallowed her tongue. He was talking about yesterday morning, not last night! Duh, Clara! "Laaaaasting stain remover," she said, covering badly. "I had to throw those shoes away."

"So, I really do owe you new shoes," he said.

As they walked down the steps to his car, his hand found its way to the small of her back. His touch was light, but her mouth went dry just the same. "L-Like I said, that's not necessary," she stuttered slightly. "Those shoes were about three years old, it was time to throw them out anyway, so really, you kind of did me a favor. I can get a new pair at Payless for a fiver."

"Let me go with you," he said as he opened the car door for her.

"Why?"

"Because it's been ages since I've seen the inside of a Payless." He grinned. "Why do you think? So I can buy the shoes for you."

"I may not be extremely wealthy, but I assure you, I can afford five pounds for shoes."

"That's not what I was trying to imply..." he said, apologetically.

"Matt... I was kidding." She smiled. "Now, can we go? I really would like to find out where we're eating tonight."

He laughed slightly. "You got it." He went around to the other side of the car and they drove off.

As he drove, Clara was aware of Matt glancing at her, probably wondering why she was so fidgety. She was tapping her feet on the floor of the car, clasping and unclasping her hands, folding and unfolding her arms. She just couldn't seem to get comfortable, and no wonder... Certain parts of her body were demanding attention that they simply were not getting. Her face felt hot, it was probably turning red, and she just had to hope that Matt wouldn't notice. How would she explain herself?

 _You see, Matt, just last night we were going to shag like crazed weasels before you turned me down in favor of tonight's date, which was really sweet and all, but its left me in a state of considerable frustration. I'm sure you can empathize. What's say we skip dinner and head directly for the back seat, huh?_ No, she didn't think that'd go over too well. After what he'd said about wanting someone who was real, how could she tell him she'd been pretending to be someone else half the time he'd seen her?

"Are you all right?" he asked, finally.

"I'm fine," she said, albeit somewhat breathlessly.

"You don't look very comfortable."

"If you were on a date with yourself, would _you_ be comfortable?" She paused, shaking her head. "That didn't come out right, I'm sorry. It's just... this is our 'first date,' you know?"

"No, lunch was our first date."

"No, that was our first lunch. This is our first date."

"I asked you out, and I paid for the food, that makes it a date."

"Fine. This is our first dinner." She grinned, knowing he couldn't argue with that. "It's just a little intimidating being out with you, Matt; first date, or not."

"Why? We've gone out before."

"Yeah... But this time, it's for real. You're not paying me back for anything, you _wanted_ to do this."

"I _wanted_ to take you out to lunch, too."

"I know you did..." She sighed. "I'm saying this all wrong..."

Briefly, after switching gears, he took her hand in his and squeezed it slightly before returning to the gearshift. He glanced at her and smiled. "It's all right. Just tell me what you want to say."

She bit her lip. "You might think it's stupid."

"Yeah. And I might not. Tell me."

She paused. "People are going to look at us and wonder what you're doing with me. Or, what I'm doing with you. I don't... belong with you."

He pulled over, stopped the car, and turned to look at her, very seriously. "It's not stupid. You're really feeling that way, and that makes it important. But listen... I don't care what anyone may or may not think about us or our date. I don't even care what might be printed in the papers a few days from now. I care about what _you_ think. Do you want to be with me tonight?"

"Yes." _In more ways than three._

He smiled. "Then you shouldn't care if people think you 'belong' with me or not. I’m being perfectly honest when I tell you that there is no one I would rather be with right now, than you."

 _You proved that last night._ "I feel the same way." She smiled. "Sorry about all that... Can we just forget what I said and have a good time tonight?"

"Of course," he said, smiling back. He gestured to the building he'd parked outside of. "We're here, anyway."

Clara looked out the window to see the façade of an extremely exclusive, very expensive Moroccan restaurant and her eyes widened. At the same time, a great deal of tension lifted off of her shoulders. Not even Reinette could get a table at this place. The date was now guaranteed bitch-free.

"It looks wonderful."

Once they'd ordered their food, most of the dishes coming on Matt's recommendation, Clara discovered another problem. It was exceedingly hard to come up with topics of discussion when all her mind wanted to think about was sex. What made matters worse was the fact that the table was one of those low-to-the-ground ones where they had to lounge on many large, luxurious pillows rather than chairs.

 _Holy God... It's like we're practically on a bed._ She watched as he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. _HOW does he manage to make that look so damn sexy?_

That, combined with the dim lighting, the in-closed private area formed by several almost-sheer curtains, and the heady atmosphere from some exotic incense, and her imagination had far better things to mull over besides talking.

Matt, for his part, was not faring much better it seemed. He smiled at her, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable, and that discomfort was showing in his lack of conversation. So far, it had gone thusly:

"So... Nice place."

Matt nodded, glancing around a bit. "Uh-huh... It's very nice. Do you like it?"

Blink. "Yeeeeah... It's nice."

"Oh... Right."

Pause.

He ran his hand along a pillow. "I wonder if this is silk..."

She did likewise. "I'm not sure... It feels like silk."

Pause.

"It smells good in here," said Clara.

"Yep, it sure does. Must be a combination of the food and the incense."

"Must be."

Paaaaaaaaaause.

Finally, she turned on her side, propping her chin up in one hand as she leaned on the pillows. "You seem nervous."

He laughed a bit self-consciously. “Likewise.”

“Yeah, but I have an excuse. I’m on a date with YOU.” She poked him in the shoulder with her index finger. “Shouldn’t you be... I don’t know, _used_ to this sort of thing?”

"Well... I want to make a good impression. But there's something I need to tell you and I'm not quite sure how... I'm, uh... I mean, there's this, um... You see..." He gestured vaguely with his hands, then dropped them as the right words failed to come.

"Would it help if you spoke in the third person again?"

He paused. "Matt has to tell you that..." He stopped. "No. No, it doesn't help at all." He looked more uncomfortable than ever.

Clara thought about what she could do. _Come on, Clara... He said you're the one who makes him feel comfortable. What do you think would ease tension on a first date?_ Suddenly, inspiration struck, and the idea would probably help both problems. She looked up at him and smiled. "I think what we need to do is start at the end of the date and work backwards."

"What?"

"Well, think about it. If we do the end of the date now, then we won't be all nervous when it actually comes up. We won't have to do the will-they-or-won't-they dance. That should ease up some of the tension." She straightened a bit and scooted closer to him on the cushions. "You're an actor. Just follow my direction. It's the end of the night; you walk me up to my flat door. My line is: Gosh, Matt, I sure had a great time tonight."

He snorted. "Yeah, that's your line in a cheesy fifties movie."

"Shut up, I'm the director here. And now, you say..." She made a prompting gesture.

He laughed lightly. "Yes, Clara, I really had a great time, too. We should exchange emails and do this again sometime."

"Sure, Matt, I would love that. Okay, now I glance at my door, fiddle with my keys, look at the ground, bite my lip, look at you hopefully..." She leaned in close to tell him in a stage-whisper, "This is your cue to lean in."

"Oh, right..."

He found the curve where her waist met her hip with his free hand and leaned in to gently kiss her. She opened for him almost instantly, giving him permission for a deeper kiss. After a few seconds, his hand traveled up her body to thread itself in her hair at the nape of her neck and he tilted her head to his. She wasn't sure when he had come closer to her, but suddenly she could feel the warmth of his body radiating onto hers. Her free hand came up to rest on his chest and she could feel the beat of his heart, racing fast.

When he pulled away after a long moment, her eyes remained closed for a bit as she basked in the afterglow of that kiss.

"Honey, that was a great rehearsal. I can't wait for the show," she said, without thinking. Instantly, she realized she had sounded remarkably like Miss C just then! _Well, duh, you_ are _Miss C!_ "I mean, um..."

"I think I know what you mean," he said. "And thanks..." He gave her a slow smile. "That did clear up some tension."

"No problem," she said, relieved that he hadn't appeared to notice her slip.

Matt had been thinking all night that something about his date seemed familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it didn't seem to make much sense, because she was completely different from anyone he'd ever known. Why did he feel like he knew her just a little better than he should? It wasn't a kind of 'oh-my-God-I've-known-you-my-whole-life' feeling, although they did seem to have quite a few similar viewpoints on things, and he was more comfortable around her than anyone else, it was more a... déjà vu feeling. _Where have I felt this before?_

And then that kiss. Good Lord, when she'd curled up on her side like that and he saw the curve of her waist, the slow rise and fall of her decollate, he'd wanted to kiss her right then and there. Hell, he'd wanted to bury her in the pillows they were sitting on and have his way with her. But that kiss had been achingly familiar. The same familiarity that had sparked when he'd given her the chaste kiss in the Starbucks parking lot, but this time was about one hundred times more intense. And it wasn't a fiery intensity, more like a slow burn... Like she wanted to take her time and enjoy him to the fullest while the flames grew higher and higher... God, he wanted this woman!

But it bugged him to no end that he couldn't figure out exactly why she seemed so familiar! Of course, he didn't want to say anything; she'd probably think he was a complete schizo. _You already can't remember her name; let's not add to your list of negative qualities, all right?_ Not only that, but he really needed to tell her something important and he couldn't quite find the right moment. _Why potentially spoil a perfectly great evening, after all? Sure... That's your reasoning and you're sticking to it._

Their conversation was still suffering somewhat, despite the considerably relieved tension. Occasionally, something she said would spark a strange remembrance, a memory that wouldn't quite be recalled, which would drive him crazy, or he'd attempt to talk about some non-committal subject and she'd stare off into space. Well, not exactly into space... She was quite plainly staring at him. Each time, she'd blush to the roots of her hair and apologize, just as she was doing at that moment.

"I'm sorry," she said for the third time. "You do realize how difficult it is to talk in your presence, don't you?"

"Um... No."

She stared at him, incredulously. "How many times must I remind you how hot you are? I swear, I really, truly, am trying to pay attention to the conversation... but when you're sitting there looking so damn hyper-cute-- No, this has gone way beyond hyper-cute. This is more like mega-hyper-cute. Plus, you have a brain, and you’re a really great guy, you’ve turned into a WHOLE person. How can my brain compete with that?"

He laughed. "While I find this incredibly flattering and my head is swelling up as we speak, I really think you might be exaggerating just a little bit."

"You also have to remember that, on the inside, I'm jumping up and down like your typical rabid fan-girl. Half of me wants to leap on top of you and rip your clothes off to sell on Ebay. The other half... is barely holding the first one back. Keeping up with your conversation is truly a feat for me right now."

He smiled, an interesting turn of phrase about lack of conversation coming to mind. "Have you ever met someone you'd just like to--" He stopped, remembering that she had told him the state of her sexuality once before. "Well... I guess you haven't."

"Yes, I have!" she insisted.

He blinked. "How did you know what I was going to say?"

Clara's eyes went huge. She'd really blown it this time! Miss C had said the thing about skipping the small talk, not her! It was proving really difficult to pretend to be two people, especially when her mind was actively engrossed largely by fantasies, rather than concentrating on not giving anything away.

_This really would be so much easier if I could just tell him it was me. I had tried to before, but with all the interruptions I never got the chance... And now, after all the talk about being real, he'd hate me if I told him Miss C really is just me._

That in mind, her large eyes blinked a few times as she struggled to come up with a reason why she knew the ending to the sentence he hadn't finished. "I... I didn't."

"Then... How could you answer me?"

"I... guessed?" She shrugged, hoping he would believe her. "Given our current conversation, you were probably going to say something like, 'Have you ever met someone you'd just like to snog and squeeze until their head explodes with raspberry jam?'" _Yeah, that sounded intelligent. For a third grader. But I couldn't just repeat what I said before!_

He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "That was disgusting."

"Oh... Would you prefer strawberry?"

They laughed again and, as their server arrived with their food, Clara breathed a mental sigh of relief. She really needed to stop zoning out, or she was going to blow this evening, big time.

Luckily, there were no more "slips" the rest of dinner. And Clara found herself sufficiently spooked by her mistake to actually pay attention to what they were talking about, as difficult as it was to ignore the raging beast that wanted to jump his bones right in the restaurant.

At the same time, however, it irked her just the tiniest bit that Matt wasn't putting the pieces of the puzzle together. She had been so certain she'd given herself away that last time, and yet he hadn't made the connection. He might have been about to, but still... Was it so inconceivable that plain Clara could be the fabulous Miss C? How... depressing.

 _Hey, you should be glad he doesn't know!_ she chided herself. _Remember, he'll hate you if he finds out, so quit your bitching!_

After a perfectly wonderful meal of savory Moroccan food and much improved conversation, Clara found her mood descending as Matt drove them back toward her place. The evening hadn't seemed very long at all, and now that she was headed home, suddenly the date was almost over. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't invite him in; even if he overlooked all the abandoned wedding plans, her place was still a huge mess. He hadn't said anything about going back to his hotel room, and she had no idea if it was considered proper dating etiquette to suggest going to someone else's hotel room.

 _Is this going to be goodbye?_ she thought, apprehension growing. She hoped not.

He pulled the car up to the curb and went around to the passenger side to open the door for her. She chewed on her bottom lip slightly as she took his hand to get out of the car, wondering if she should extend the invite anyway, precluded with a warning about the state of her flat, of course. Anything to elongate the evening. But would he turn her down? It was a possibility. She wasn't sure if she could handle that...

"Matt," she began, when suddenly the last voice she expected to hear cut through the night.

"Clara!"

With dread, she turned her head to see Adam hurrying down the steps from her door. He no longer had his key, so he must have just been knocking when they showed up. Reflexively, the hand still in Matt's grasp tightened.

"Adam, what the hell are you doing here?" she asked, absolutely certain she didn't want to know the answer.

"Clara, I was an idiot," he said, looking for all the world like a beaten puppy.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Christina ditched you.” At his inarticulate blustering, she rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. I thought so.”

"Please, you have to take me back,” said Adam. “I swear, I'm a changed man, I just didn't realize what I had, but I know now that you're the only one I've ever wanted..."

She was only too aware that he'd used the words 'you have to,' and there wasn't one mention of the word 'love.' He hadn't said it since before they'd gotten engaged. Even when he groveled, he was still a prat. Unbelievable...

"You just _had_ to darken my doorstep tonight, didn't you?" she asked.

"Excuse me," said Matt, looking back and forth between the two of them before settling again on Clara. "Who is this?"

Adam looked at Matt, the puppy expression immediately changing to one of hostility. "I'm her fiancé," he informed the other man before Clara had a chance to open her mouth.

Matt lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Ex-fiancé, last I heard," he said, still not relinquishing Clara’s hand in his own.

Adam huffed, bristling almost visibly. "I was just working some stuff out..."

"Yeah," said Clara, becoming angrier by the minute. "You had to 'work stuff out' with one of my bosses and a hair dresser you barely knew!"

"And correct me if I'm wrong," added Matt. "Weren't you the one who left her five days before the wedding? I think you had your chance with her, Allen."

Internally, Clara groaned. Matt's attempt at remembering a name he'd only heard once wasn't even close, and if Adam really hadn't changed, she knew exactly how he'd react.

Predictably, Adam's hands balled into fists. "Are you making fun of me, chum?"

"If I was making fun of you, it would be obvious,” said Matt. “What I'm going for now is disdain, although I suppose this part right here would be qualified as sarcasm."

Adam’s expression was one of mounting fury and Clara prayed he wouldn't do something stupid. "Look," she said. "Adam, I really don't want to talk to you, right now or ever again, so--"

"Shut up, Clara!"

Matt took a step closer to Adam, raising a hand threateningly. "Hey, don't tell her to shut up, arsehole!"

Time suspended for precisely one second as she watched Adam's fist draw back and hang in the air for just a moment. What was worse, Matt took a defensive stance against the coming attack, rather than get out of the way. Clara extended a hand as though she could stop what was about to happen through mere force of will.

"Matt, don't! He's--"

_Crack._

* * *

The view of the North Sea from Blyth’s pier off the quay was gorgeous. A million million stars shone down on Rose and the Doctor as they walked, hand in hand, along the pavement, listening to the waves below them. She pulled his coat tighter around her as the ocean wind made her shiver and pulled at her hair. She felt a bit of jealousy over the Doctor’s ability to regulate his core temperature, something she had yet to get a handle on. She groaned a bit as she thought back on what happened that night. There were a lot of things she had yet to get a handle on.

“Maybe I really shouldn’t be out in public yet,” Rose said. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I’ve done some pretty stupid things--”

“That waiter was white as a sheet, Doctor.”

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t _mean_ to growl at him when he tried to take away your steak.”

“I almost broke his hand.” But she appreciated his attempts to make her feel better.

“‘Almost’ being the operative word,” he said. “You’re learning control, that’s an improvement!”

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“Maybe. But at least they’re straws now, instead of threads.”

They reached the end of the pier and leaned against the railing. Rose looked up at the twinkling stars, briefly marveling at how far their light had to travel before it could reach her eyes.

“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” she asked, quietly.

“The servers? I doubt it...”

“Doctor.”

He continued looking out over the water, prattling on like Rose hadn’t spoken. “They’ll put up with just about anything for a tip, trust me, I worked in that industry.”

Rose touched his arm and he looked down at her. She could see the desperation in his eyes, pleading for her not to continue, but she knew they had to face the facts. “Mum and dad, Doctor. And the rest of the, what do you call them? The pack?” She shook her head, sadly. “You’re all running and I’m limping. I know what happens to the one that limps.”

He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin. “No, they won’t. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“How are you going to do that?” she asked. “Harry already tried to kill me once. What’s going to stop him from trying again.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Oh, come on!” She leaned back to look at him. “According to mum, you’re the only one who gives him any kind of trouble, for anything.” Reaching up, she touched his cheek. “You might want to protect me, Doctor, but you can’t hold off the entire pack.”

“Let me remind you, I’m on Harry’s shit list, too,” he said. “So, you don’t have to worry, we’re not going back to the pack.”

“Bollocks.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Dad started the pack,” she said. “He and mum willingly stay apart from one another, just to watch out for them. Even though they abandoned him. And I’m sure as hell not going to let some psychopath run my father’s legacy into the ground.”

The Doctor drew himself up, giving her his best dark look. “You are in no condition to take on Harry and challenge his authority.”

“Oh, I have no intention of taking him on.”

“Then, what--” He stared at her as it clicked. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair before planting his hands on his hips and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You took him on before,” she pointed out.

“And he KICKED my ARSE,” he said over his shoulder.

“You’re still here, you got away.”

“Barely!” he said. “You saw me many hours later, after the healing process had already started!” He turned back, his expression defeated. “If I can’t beat him while protecting what is most important to me,” he spread out his arms in a gesture of futility, “then I have no chance of beating him at all.”

Rose bit down on her lower lip, considering for a moment. “Do you regret it?” she asked, at last.

“Not for a minute!” he said, instantly.

She smiled, laughing softly. “Okay. New idea.” He lifted his eyebrows. “We can’t join the pack. Why don’t we ask the others to leave and start a new group with us?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

He tugged at his ear. “There are rules. Loyalty issues. They’d have to trust the new leader implicitly.”

“They trusted dad.”

“And he let them down. Harry challenged him and he won.”

“Mum told me that the others are afraid of him,” said Rose. “They know that something is wrong with him, but they’re all too collywobbled to do anything about it. _Except_ you.” She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into the short hair at his nape. “You’re the only one who doesn’t shit his whack every time he gives an order. You lead, they’ll follow.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced. “The only way I could possibly gain their confidence is if I beat him.” He drew his hands from her shoulders down to the small of her back. “And if I lose?”

“You leave, I’ll follow,” she said, softly. After a moment, she smiled. “Did you give as good as you got?”

“I’d like to think so,” he said, with a bit of smug pride.

She chuckled and lifted up on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. “I think you can beat him. He’s a total poofter anyway.” 

They laughed and he leaned down to bury his face in her wind-blown hair. As her scent washed over him, the love he had for her and the feeling of being utterly complete filled his heart. He’d known from the moment he’d laid eyes on her that she was his other half, and the fact that she accepted him, despite all his failings and what he’d forced on her, just staggered him.

“Rose, will you marry me?”

They each stared at the other, Rose in shock, and the Doctor... also in shock, as though he couldn’t quite believe that the words had tumbled from his mouth.

“What?” she managed, after a moment.

“That... That didn’t come out the way I wanted,” he said, dropping his hands from her waist. “I had a speech and everything.” He pulled at his ear and rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable. He looked up at the sky. “And well... at least the moonlight is there, but there were supposed to be flowers, strolling minstrels, a ring... Oh!” He looked back at her, a little frantically. “A ring I’ve got! I’ve got that! Just…” He looked a little defeated. “Just not on me at the moment.” Rose bit her lips, trying not to smile at his adorable antics. His shoulders slumped. “Well, I’m not perfect.” He reached out and took both of her hands in his. “But I’m willing to try really hard, if that’s what you want. I just want you, well, I know I _have_ you, but I can’t explain--”

“You want something permanent,” she said, cutting into his babble.

“Yes!” he said, looking relieved that she understood. “Well, what we have _is_ permanent, but--”

“Stop nattering, I get it,” she said. “You want someone to come home to, someone you know will be there. Someone who isn’t perfect, either.”

“You sound like you’ve heard this before,” he said, surprised.

“Clara.”

“Ah.”

She smiled, shyly. “I just never thought it would apply to me.”

The Doctor allowed a long moment of silence to pass before saying pointedly, “You know, the last time I was this nervous about a response from you, you had a gun pointed at my chest.”

“I still might kill you,” she said. “I’m having more lucid moments, but I’m not entirely sane yet.”

“You’ve missed your window of opportunity, you’re stuck with me now.” He shuffled his feet a bit, swinging their joined hands back and forth. “Come on, give me an answer, yes or no? I’ll even take a maybe, just say something.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Are you... sure you want to marry me? I mean... once you go through with it, I’m not letting you out of it.”

“I don’t want to be let go,” he said. “When I’m not around you, I feel paralyzed. With you, I feel… like I can do anything.”

She smiled. “Okay, then. Yes.”

His eyes brightened. “Yes?”

“I will, I’ll do it, I’ll marry you! Keep up here, Doctor!”

He laughed and swung her into his arms, turning them in a circle, and finding her lips with his own. She clung to him, dragging her hands across his scalp, as the wind blew her hair around their faces, making a curtain of privacy. She opened to him, letting him back her against the railing as he deepened their kiss, tangling his tongue with hers. Reaching under his coat that she still wore, he trailed his hands along her hips and up under her shirt.

She gasped as his cold flesh came in contact with her warmer skin and she jumped, trying to get away from him, but having to settle for squirming as she was trapped between him and the rail. He chuckled, moving his hands to the outside of her clothing and pulling the coat back around her.

“I’m going to have to teach you a few things about thermoregulation.”

“How about you take me home and finish what you started and we’ll work on that other thing later,” she said, tongue in teeth. “My boyfriend just proposed to me and I intend to shag him rotten.”

His grin was absolutely filthy, but his words were sweet, honeyed wine to her ears, “Rose Tyler, I love you.”

“I love you, too, my bad wolf.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

Clara handed Matt a Vicodin and a glass of water, then gently pressed a baggie of ice to his jaw as she sat down next to him on her couch.

"Ouch... Thanks," he said, after swallowing the pill.

"For what? My ex punching you in the jaw?" she asked, miserably.

"For letting me into your flat and taking care of me. You couldn't have told me he was a black belt a little sooner?"

"I tried. There didn't seem to be enough time to get all the words out as his fist arced through the air toward your face."

He winced and handed the glass back to her, taking charge of the ice himself. She placed it on the coffee table after shoving some papers out of the way. Some of them fell on the floor, but she didn't bother to pick them up.

"I'm sorry my ex is an idiot," she said.

"I'm not. If he wasn't, then presumably, I never would have gotten the chance to date you."

She smiled, blushing. "You're very sweet. Too sweet for just having been slugged on my account. You must be feeling the Vicodin already."

He grinned, then winced as the action brought a flash of pain to his sore jaw. An answering wince of sympathy crossed Clara's features. She only hoped it wouldn’t swell up too much, his chin was already prominent enough.

"You're going to have a massive bruise," she said. "That's not good... An actor's face is crucial."

He didn’t appear worried. "It can be covered with makeup. Jim Carrey has a chipped tooth right in the front they always cover up."

"I take it you've never met him."

He shook his head. "I wish I had, even though it means I'll never remember his name again. I hear he's a really neat fellow, if kind of nuts."

"After tonight's display, I could say the same thing about you," she said.

There was a pause as he reached out and traced a random design with his fingertip on the back of one of her hands before taking it in his. "I need to tell you something," he said.

 _That doesn't sound good,_ she thought. "What?" she asked.

"I've wanted to tell you all night."

"Okay..."

He brought her hand to his lips before he continued. She stifled a sigh as nerve endings jumped to life and a tingling sensation leapt from the spot. He took a deep breath.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

Her heart stuttered. "What?"

"I'm going on location for my next film. In Scotland."

Cold lead settled in her stomach. "So... this is goodbye."

"No!" he denied adamantly, wincing at the pain it caused. "No, I don't want this to be goodbye. More like... goodbye for now."

Something in her resisted the euphoric feeling that threatened to fill her. If it sounded too good to be true, it usually was, after all. "You really want to see me again?"

"Yes. I do."

The euphoria again threatened to overflow at those words; the words that, thank God, she would never hear Adam say to her. Still, she tried to keep her senses in tact. "You're not going to forget about me when you're once again surrounded by gorgeous actresses?"

"Believe me," he said. "I don't think I could ever forget you."

 _Maybe not forget, but you don't recognize me,_ came a tiny, unbidden voice which she hurried to stomp down.

 _Give him a chance,_ said an even tinier voice.

_You might regret it._

_It's better to have loved and lost..._

_Whoever said that never loved at all._

_Do you want to give him up forever?_

He tilted his head at her, his expression so earnestly hopeful. "Carla?"

She smiled, unable to help herself. "Okay."

His gorgeous green eyes brightened. "Okay?"

"Okay," she repeated, bravely. "How long will you be gone?"

"Well, the actual filming should only take a few weeks, maybe a month. But..." He paused. "It’s always going to be like this with me, I’m afraid. Running here and there for work, I can’t always be here for you. I'm not going to pressure you into anything serious," he said, hurriedly, "but... I’ll never be here indefinitely."

She bit her lip, looking down. "I see." All the good feelings she'd had washed away like low tide. "This is a temporary thing between us. Even more temporary than it is now."

"Cori--"

"Clara."

"Right, Clara..." He sat up so he could look at her better, setting the bag of ice down on the floor next to the couch. He took both her hands in his. "I..." He hesitated. "Matt--" he began again in third person, but then shook his head. "I," he said, more definitively, "I like you. I like you a lot. You're so different. And when I'm with you, I feel like myself. My real self. Right now, I can't stand the thought of never seeing you again. If that means I have to get on a plane whenever I want a date, then so be it. Maybe I'm a selfish prat, but I want to see where this can go. You are, quite simply, amazing."

Her head swam, the tide rapidly coming back in. "I am?" she asked, like a child suddenly given a promised toy she'd been denied for far too long.

"To me, you are."

And as he leaned forward to kiss her very gently, she somehow knew that he was telling her the absolute truth.

Of all the kisses they had shared; quick and impersonal, frenzied and passionate, intense and hot; this kiss was so far the best, at least in Clara's opinion. Wary of hurting his jaw, this kiss was a sweet, gentle exploration; a languid expression of the supernova-like passion she knew they created together, but in no way a pale comparison. Matt had a way of turning even a simple kiss into something explosive. Of course, being an actor might have helped, but if what he said could be believed, then this was just him; no acting involved. _He really must feel something for me..._

As she carefully kissed him back, she was suddenly very aware of his muscled thigh pressing against her hip. The room suddenly felt a bit warmer. _I want this. I want him. Should I? Am I only being hesitant because I'm scared or just because I think I ought to wait? No... I have to take this opportunity. I've missed too many already. I can't be a coward forever._

Her hands crept up his shirt and, somewhat clumsily, her fingers began undoing the buttons. He pulled back then, but only about an inch or so. His eyes searched hers, but she couldn't tell if he was shocked or surprised or what. Maybe it was both.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

Unbidden, came an amused half-smile. "Isn't it obvious?" She swallowed, the smile fading into seriousness, and she glanced down at her lap for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I want to see where this can go, too."

"That... isn't exactly what I meant."

"I know. But don't you want to? I mean... if it's all right with you."

He was silent for a few seconds before his gaze traveled from her face to her body. As if of its own accord, one of his hands slowly drifted up and traced the line of her collarbone, followed the low collar of her dress, and traveled over the swell of her breasts, lingered there for a moment as he glanced briefly up at her face, and then down into the valley between. Her breath hitched in her throat at the feather-light touch that left goosebumps in its wake. His eyes darted up again.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

The smile reappeared. "I've never been more sure in my entire life." She felt kind of stupid asking this, like she was stuck inside that horrible movie he'd been in, but she had to ask anyway. "Will you... God, this is cliche... Will you please be careful with me?"

His smile was highly amused, but more than that, extremely understanding. "I promise, sweetheart," he said, gently. “As long as you'll be careful with me," he said, indicating his jaw.

"I will."

She leaned forward to kiss him again. The rest of the buttons on his shirt came undone and Clara ran her hands down his smooth chest, fingers brushing over the few small moles he had. He was pale and perfect, with just a bit of definition around his abs. Hands and mouths searched, found, played, and searched again.

He helped her out of her dress, pulling it over her head, and didn’t act as though he’d been expecting sexy stockings with hold-ups when her control-top pantyhose was revealed. In fact, he didn’t seem to care about much of anything besides kissing her, touching her, and getting rid of said pantyhose and undergarments. She blushed as more skin was bared to each of them, but embarrassment fled when he found her nipples with his mouth and tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut as he held her close, heat rising until she thought her skin might burst into flame.

When, at last, they had rid each other of all barriers, and retrieved a condom from his wallet, he pulled her into his arms and laid her underneath him on the couch. She shivered at the touch of so much naked skin. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as he moved lower, his mouth leaving moist trails of kisses.

He took his time with her, touching her carefully with his fingers, stretching her, preparing her, while his tongue worked to bring her pleasure. The intensity built so high, she writhed against him, her fingers diving into his soft dark blond hair, thinking she'd had enough of this gentle, considerate loving and wanting him out of control. She was absolutely certain she'd go insane unless she found some kind of release for the pressure growing inexorably inside her.

But he drew her out, finer than a spider's thread, making her go higher, reach higher, until she could go no further and stars exploded behind her eyes. She shook and cried out and sobbed, and all the while, he held her tightly to him, worshipping her with soft, beautiful words in more than one language. And when she could finally catch her breath, he began it all over again.

As he pressed inside, he kissed her deeply, trying to distract her from the pain they both knew was imminent. He swallowed her cry and held himself still to allow her time to adjust, kissing along her jaw and neck, whispering how beautiful she was. When he thrust again, the pain was fading into the background and a new sort of pleasure began to build. She moaned, tilting her head back into the cushions of the couch, and wrapped her legs around his waist to move with him. He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, breathlessly.

He shook his head. “Not gonna last...” He took several breaths. “So tight.”

“It’s okay.”

“No.”

He opened his eyes to look at her, his expression determined. He slowed his movements and his breathing, and she marveled at his attempt to hold onto his control. Balancing on one arm, he reached between them with the other and stroked gentle circles around her clit. Instantly, her inner muscles clenched down on him and he began to thrust faster, more erratically, as she moaned louder and longer. When he went rigid against her, his eyes slamming shut on a groan, she came apart around him again, flying through the stars together this time.

Clara was certain neither she nor her couch would ever be the same.

* * *

It was around 3:25am when Clara dialed the phone on the coffee table. She twirled the cord around her fingers, wondering if it would pick up. She'd never called this late before, so she didn't know...

"Hello?"

"Jane?"

"Hey, sugar." She didn't even sound tired, nor did she ask why Clara was calling so early in the morning. Just how did someone manage to be so perfect in every way? She wasn't Mary Poppins after all. "What can I do for you?"

"I, um... I turned in my V card. I can't punch it any more."

There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, Clara wasn't sure if Jane would know what she meant. Then... "Oh, honey, I am so proud of you!"

She smiled. Good ol' Jane.

"But, why are you calling me?"

Clara’s smile faded instantly. "My two best friends are MIA. I needed a girlfriend to tell, but one's hiding out and the other... I have no idea what's going on with her. I... thought you would understand."

"Sweetheart, we need to have coffee."

A fraction of her smile returned. "And ice cream?"

 _"Loads_ of ice cream. Congratulations are in order, after all. And I am going to need a full report. With details, _lots_ of details."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said, her smile now a full-on grin.

She hung up the phone and carefully turned over, snuggling herself back underneath Matt's arm. Worries for Amy and Rose still ate at her brain, but most of her thought capacity at the moment was taken by one single compulsion: Sleep.

* * *

Matt awoke early that morning to find a very warm, naked, and cuddly Clara asleep beside him. Both of them were covered with the quilt that had been draped over the back of the couch, and wrapped very closely together, given the narrowness of their current sleeping arrangement. Both of them had been too tired to move to the bedroom last night. He hadn't minded. He looked down at her then and smiled as he saw her hand curled up near her mouth, a mouth he had very thoroughly kissed last night.

She'd given him a great deal by sharing herself with him, he realized. He wasn't sure if she saw it that way, but given her age and the fact that she'd waited until now, he was guessing that maybe she did. He hoped she thought it was special... Perhaps they should have made more of an effort to move to a bed at least. A first time on a sofa. He grimaced slightly in hindsight. Oh, well...

Carefully, without waking her up, he disentangled their limbs and crawled over her to get up off the couch. The least he could do was make breakfast for them. He hoped she wouldn't mind him using the bathroom and the kitchen...

He tugged on his boxers and found his way into the tiny bathroom. The bath towels on the rack were red, but the hand towels at the sink were off-white. An odd choice, considering they couldn't be washed together. It occurred to him a moment later that these were probably the towels that were on sale. The shower was a glass square and he noted that she preferred one of those poofy shower sponge things to washcloths. Either that, or washcloths weren't on sale, he thought. Other than that, a small bowl of potpourri decorated the countertop, a framed picture of a mermaid brushing her hair adorned the wall, and - he smiled - the ticket he had given her to attend the after-party was taped to the mirror of the medicine cabinet.

The smile melted to a confused frown, however, when he saw that the ticket was still intact. The little stub on the right hand side wasn't torn off.

 _But she said she went,_ he thought. _And she had the nametag that said 'Kasterborous Pictures, Inc' on it. You could only get one of those by getting into the party._ The frown deepened slightly. _Wait... When she put the nametag on that time I saw her, she had to peel the paper off the back. That would mean she never used it. But if she went to the party, then why..._ He glanced back out into the living room where Clara still slept. An idea was forming in his head, but...

He walked out to the couch and sat down at the edge, much as she had last night. Very gently, he brushed a few strands of her dark hair out of her face.

* * *

Clara awoke very slowly. Her brain was sluggish, finding her current environment much too warm and cozy to willingly leave. _Shouldn't my alarm have gone off by now?_ she thought, sleepily. _I should get up and check... but I don't wanna..._ Eventually, her eyes crept open and Matt swam into her line of vision. She smiled, remembering the night before, then yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

"Heyyyy..." she said, thickly.

He smiled back at her. "Hey," he answered, warmly. "How do you feel?"

She took inventory for a moment. "A little sore, but other than that... Fantastic."

"I'm glad." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I was going to make breakfast for you, but I don't know what you like, so I thought we could go out. I've got three hours before my flight."

She, too, craned her neck to look at the clock, and groaned. "I've got thirty minutes before I have to leave for work."

"Oh..."

"You could go with me," she offered. "Reinette and the others won't be there this early. I mean, they are _supposed_ to be there, but what are the odds of them actually coming in on time?"

He considered, then shook his head. "I'd better not. It's best not to tempt fate, after all." He watched as her gaze slipped from his, her smile faltering somewhat. "Don't," he said.

"Don't what?" she asked.

"Start telling me that I don't really have to keep seeing you, calling you, whatever. I still like you, and my mind hasn't changed." He paused for a moment. "Actually, I take that back. I like you even more this morning than I did last night."

She stared at him. "How did you know that was along the lines of what I was going to say?"

"You had this look on your face that I am coming to associate with your 'self-deprecating' moments. I'm going to have to do something about that. You need self-esteem."

"Don’t hold your breath," she warned. "My friends have been working on me for years."

He leaned down and nuzzled her with his nose next to her ear. "I'll take my time," he whispered, echoing something he'd said the night before, and she blushed.

"All right," she said, beginning to get up before he could distract her further. "We both need to get ready to go. Coffee?"

"Please."

Twenty minutes later, they both stood on Clara's little driveway, keys in hand. Matt wrapped his arms around her and leaned down to kiss her thoroughly, despite his bruised jaw.

"I'm going to get you a mobile," he said, holding her tightly to him.

"I have three."

"They aren't _yours._ I'm going to get you a mobile only _I_ know the number to. Give it to your friends, if you want, just don't let Reinette get her claws on it."

She nodded. "It'll be nice to have a mobile _I_ can pick the ringtone for and that I'll actually _want_ to receive calls on."

"It'll be like the Bat Phone. To the airport, Girl-Wonder!" he said in his best Adam West impersonation. "Your boyfriend's coming into town!"

She shook her head at him, laughing. "Okay, Matthew _Grayson_ , enough with the Batman references." She glanced up at him shyly, trailing her fingers along the lapels of his coat. "So... You're my boyfriend?"

"Do you know anyone else who is? Or maybe you'd prefer 'significant other?'"

"No, no!" she assured him. "'Boyfriend' is great!"

He smiled. "I am, aren't I?"

She groaned. "Okay, that's enough of that. If we don't say goodbye, we're never going to."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Maybe not for a while, but then I'll probably get sacked and you'll be in big trouble."

"Yeah..." he agreed. "Craig would probably have a coronary."

"And we don't want that. Then again, wasn't he the guy who set you up with Reinette?"

"He had the best of intentions."

"Most people who set themselves up to see Reinette usually do." Her brow furrowed slightly as she realized Matt never had any trouble remembering his agent’s name. “Hey, why is it that you can remember Craig’s name?” she asked. “Is he special?”

He snorted and leaned his head down against her shoulder briefly. “His name’s not really Craig,” he said, laughing. “It’s just the name I’ve consistently remembered for him and he started answering to it.”

She laughed with him. “Poor Craig!” Clara stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, carefully, so she wouldn’t upset his already dark purple jaw. "Fly safely. I'll look forward to getting my new mobile."

"I may just show up and give it to you."

"Even better."

He ran his fingers across her cheek, smiled, kissed her again, and reluctantly they both climbed into their cars, driving off in opposite directions; Clara to the office, where she barely registered any of the Triumvirate's complaints all day...

...and Matt to the airport, where he caught Craig picking up their tickets from the express/VIP lane.

"Hey, Craig," he said, to his agent's turned back.

"You do realize you never called me last night, don't y-aaaaaagh!" he screamed in mid-sentence, cutting himself off as he turned and caught sight of Matt. "What _happened_ to your FACE!"

"I had an argument with a fist and my face lost," he replied, nonchalantly.

Craig's face was rapidly turning an interesting shade of purple. He sputtered for a few moments before squeaking out, "You don't get to go out on any more dates!"

He shrugged. "Fine. Then I'm not doing any more movies."

The purple flushed to bright red. "But--! But--! You--!" He wagged his finger impotently at his client before giving up and sighing. "You're going to kill me one of these days..."

* * *

Pete and Rose walked side by side through the tall grass behind the Bothal house. The night was clear with a waxing moon overhead, making the open area away from the trees quite light. The night sounds of crickets and owls quieted as they came near, sensing predators nearby. Pete eyed Rose’s puffy red coat.

“That coat doesn’t do you any justice,” he said, coming to a stop near the middle of the field..

“I like it,” she said, defiantly. “Why are we out here?”

“Rose, there comes a time in every girl’s life--”

She blinked. “Are you giving me the period talk?”

His eyes went wide. “No! When a girl needs to know how to fend for herself out in the wild!”

“Oh, God,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Is this going to be like the time you took Lynda and me out fishing?”

“Those were some good times. Lynda was only three and sat in her little chair the whole time...”

“We were using shotguns.”

“Rods and reels just get in the way. As I recall, you didn’t catch anything.”

“That’s because there weren’t any fish left. Just fish BITS. Floating in the water. And the gun recoil sent me flying across the boat.”

Pete chuckled. “Still had a pretty good time.”

“Are you going to get to my question any time soon?”

He nodded. “Well, the best way to tell you is to just do it.” He went very still, almost unnaturally so. “I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and tell me what you sense.”

“Okay.” Rose took a deep breath and waited. After a moment, she said, “I hear wind.”

“Good,” said Pete. “Care to be a little more open than that?”

She rolled her eyes. “What am I _supposed_ to be hearing, dad?”

“Try again. Go past what you’re used to feeling and use your new senses.”

She sighed. “All right.” She took another breath.

“Start with the wind,” said Pete.

Rose kept her eyes closed and tried to feel outward with her senses. She started small. “I hear the wind... I hear my breathing... I can hear myself talking... I can hear my own heartbeat... I can hear your heart beating...” Her eyes flew open. “I can hear YOUR heart beating!”

“Sweetheart, focus.”

“Right, right…” She closed her eyes again. The sound of the two beating hearts faded, but didn’t completely go away. As she listened, another heart joined, faster than the other two. “There’s... something else here,” she said, slowly.

“That’s good. Go on.”

“It’s... afraid.”

“Good. Smell that, taste it, know what it means. Keep going.”

She tasted the raw flavor of the fear that she could smell, could almost see the shimmering red chain of the scent behind her eyelids, darting through the grass. “It’s not human... it’s an animal.”

“What else do you hear?”

“It’s blood is rushing through its veins, it’s... confused.” She paused, sorting through all the information the wind brought her. “It’s afraid of me.”

“Use that. What do your instincts tell you?”

Her heartbeat thudded a slow counterpoint to the faster beat of the small animal. _Run... Run... Before it gets away... Run after it!_

A low growl rumbled up from Rose’s chest as she unconsciously lowered her stance, her body ready to spring. Faster than a normal human, she darted forward, leaping gracefully the few meters to wear the rabbit stood, invisible to the usual naked eye, but wreathed in the red halo of fear to Rose. She snatched it off the ground in one hand, growling menacingly. Pete clapped his hands.

“Good girl!” he said, proudly.

His words broke the spell over Rose and, startled, she dropped the rabbit, which scampered off like hell was at its heels.

“Oh, what did you let it go for?” Pete asked.

“Because my instincts told me to bite into its neck,” she said, breathlessly.

“Well, why didn’t you?” he asked, moving closer to her.

She turned to stare at him in shock. “What? I thought Peter Rabbit was annoying, but I didn’t want to tear his little throat out!”

Pete put his hands on his hips. “Rose Marion Tyler, where do you think meat comes from?”

“I know where meat comes from. It comes from the store, where nature intended! On neat little styrofoam trays, packaged in plastic wrap!”

He shook his head. “You can’t think that way anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because, for you, the world has been boiled down into two separate sections. The predator... and the prey.”

Rose looked off in the direction of the rabbit. “Dad, I’m not a killer.”

“We don’t kill for sport, Rose, unlike some humans. Our duty, as an advanced member of the species, is to watch over the herd. Corruption, evil, insanity... it’s a sickness. It’s all a sickness. Sometimes we’re the treatment, sometimes we’re the cure... Sometimes we’re the knife that cuts the cancer out.”

“How can we do that?” she asked. “How can we make that call? Decide for everyone, what’s corrupt and what’s not?”

“We always give a chance,” said Pete. “To make the right choice, to be the treatment. We never just run in, teeth bared. Everyone deserves the chance to make it right.” He squeezed her shoulder and began walking East. “Come on. Let’s see if we can improve those instincts.”

Rose trailed after him, trying to accept all she’d been told. “What if I’m not ready for it?”

“One day, you will be. You’ll hit a certain point and… you’ll just know.” He pointed towards a small copse of trees. “Follow me. There are some raccoons about one hundred meters that way.”

“I hate raccoons,” muttered Rose.

“They’re an acquired taste.”

* * *

Amy was in the kitchen, mixing up a dinnertime batch of ramen, when she heard footsteps behind her. She rolled her eyes, she’d already told Jaws five times that it would be ready when she SAID it was ready.

“Quit bugging me, Jaws! Go play _Call of Duty_ with XBox or something!”

She glanced over her shoulder, but instead of seeing the large kid who always seemed to take up most of the space in the small kitchen, Virgil was standing there awkwardly, his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, Virgil,” she said. “What do you want?”

“Um… Ms. Pond,” he said tentatively.

Amy whirled around. “How did you know my last name? You’re not supposed to know that! Virgil, you forget my name this instant!”

“Amy--”

She picked up a large frying pan from the sink. “Come here and let me hit you until you forget.”

“No!” he cried, holding up his hands to fend her off. “Look, I know because I worked at Gallifrey. As an intern.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, I worked under you for about three and a half minutes.”

“I had someone work under me?” she said, shocked. She didn’t even remember this.

“Until they decided to send me to another area.”

“Which area?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“The Poisson department.”

“YOU WORKED FOR REINETTE?”

He shook his head. “No! Oh, God, no! I worked for…” His blue eyes clouded over in a dreamy expression, a goofy smile across his face. “Ms. Tyler.”

Amy’s eyes bugged. “ROSE? You worked for Rose? But she works in Human Resources, she doesn’t work for Rein-- OH.” There was only one other Tyler at Gallifrey. “THAT Ms. Tyler. You worked for Lynda-with-a-Y?” She lifted an eyebrow. “What’s with the dorky grin and puppydog eyes?”

He blinked rapidly, startled out of his private remembrances. “What? I don’t have--”

“Oh, GOD, you have a CRUSH on Ly... Lyn...” She gagged. “I think I just threw up a little...” She finally managed, “Lynda Tyler?”

He fidgeted. “Is that... bad?”

“No, no, no, no, no!” she backpedaled instantly. “It’s fine, it’s just… whoa… Lynda? Really?”

“She’s really very insightful!” said Virgil.

Amy waited to see if he was pulling her leg, but he seemed completely serious. “...Are we talking about the same Lynda here?”

“The things she says about color and the way it makes people feel, she’s very creative!”

“She’s what now?”

“She’s actually pretty smart, once you get to talking with her.”

He was utterly GONE for the woman, that much was clear. Amy set the frying pan down and turned back to making her casserole. “Well,” she said, “you’ve either seen a side of Lynda that GOD HIMSELF has never seen, or you’ve got it REALLY bad. Congratulations, Virgil.”

“Uh… Thanks,” he said.

“So, you interned at Gallifrey.” She spun back around. “YOU interneted at GALLIFREY!”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good! What if someone traces me here?”

“That’s kinda why I thought I should mention…” he began, but Amy was already running out of the kitchen. 

“Watch the noodles, Virgil! Keep stirring! Gotta make a call!”

She locked herself inside the toilet and pulled her mobile out of her pocket, dialing Rory.

“Hello?”

“Rory, it’s me!” she said.

“Amy!” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be calling me here! What if someone hears me?”

“I know, but we have a serious problem!” she said. “One of the guys here worked as an intern at Gallifrey. However small the possibility, if his resume is still in circulation there, they could conceivably trace him back to me!”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but you have to admit it’s a possibility.”

Rory sighed. “Shit... Okay, I’ll look it up, see if I can get him off the system. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I figured it would be better the less I knew about all of them. I know he worked under Lynda, does that help?”

“Well, he would have gotten his internship through his university. There couldn’t have been very many interns from Woods who worked under Lynda in the last few years.”

“Thanks, Rory.” She paused, cradling the phone against her ear with both hands, as if she could convey some of the warmth she felt towards him through the line. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” he said.

“Any luck with the evidence?”

“No... I’m sorry,” he said, sounding extremely guilty. “I’m... so sorry.”

Sensing there was more to this, Amy asked, “What’s the matter? What happened?”

“I...” Rory paused, then said very quickly, “We shouldn’t talk about it on this line. I need to see you soon. I’ll come by later.”

“Okay,” she said, worriedly. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’m more worried about you right now than myself.”

* * *

"No, I still haven’t found out anything from Reinette, Rory," Clara said into her new red mobile as she climbed out of her car and locked it. 

Matt had insisted the new mobile be red and the kicker was that it lit up when it rang. She'd just smiled and shook her head when he'd given it to her, showing up on her doorstep with it, as promised. How could she resist or say no when he was so darned cute about it?

"Amy’s been hiding for three weeks!" said Rory.

"You say that like I don't know," she said with a sigh as she walked down to the corner. "I'm sure she's all right. She's still sending in work to the office, right?"

"As far as my reports go, she's doing all her work by email."

She paused for a moment as she punched the button on the signal to walk across the street. Parking at the Tardis was horrid that day, she'd had to park around the corner. "Do you think Reinette could trace that?" she asked.

"Reinette wouldn't know how. You know she never goes near a computer. 'The radiation causes wrinkles,'" he said in a credible imitation of their boss' voice. "She can't even boot up a game, let alone surf through someone's files. She'd have to pay someone to do it for her, and that someone is me, the fount of information. But as long as I play dumb and pretend that Amy's dropped off the face of the earth, she's safe."

"And as long as Reinette doesn't go on your computer."

"Like I said, that's not going to happen."

"I guess-- Hey, Rory, I have to go, someone's beeping the line."

"Okay, see you later."

"Right." She switched the line over. "Hello?" She relished once again the feel of not having to answer the phone with her name.

"Hello, Chloe!"

She giggled. "Hi, Matt."

"Was I close?"

"You got the first sound right. Clara."

"Augh... Right. Clara." He really had been making an effort. It seemed to annoy him more than it did her that he couldn't remember her name. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Am I going to see you?" she asked, hopefully, as she began crossing the street with a few other pedestrians.

"Yes, you are." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I’m coming back to shoot some promo photos and thought I’d stay until Monday. Your place, seven o'clock?"

"It's a date."

"Great. Gotta go. I'm on set right now."

“Naughty boy, using your mobile on company time!” she teased.

“I _do_ have my reputation as a diva to uphold.”

Clara laughed. "I'll see you later, Matt."

"I can't wait."

As Clara flipped the phone closed, a hand, seemingly in slow-motion, snaked out from the alley she was passing. The fingers clamped around her wrist and without warning, she was pulled into the darkened corridor.

"Think he's catching on to you, Miss C?"

She looked up in utter shock to see a blond man she'd only met twice before, but who gave her a creepy feeling she couldn't quite forget. She was so caught off-guard by the fact that he had recognized her as Miss C, she completely forgot to scream. Instead, the only response that came to mind was, "H-huh?"

His smile was slow and knowing. "Playing coy. How cute. So, what's your real name? _I_ promise to remember it."

The dig at Matt's expense was not lost on her, and there was no way she was going to tell him her name. 'Clara' had never met Harry! _Play dumb,_ she thought. "Um... I don't know who you--"

His smile faded instantly and his dark hazel eyes seemed to swallow her up. _"Tell me your name."_

"Clara Oswald." Her eyes went wide. _WHY did I tell him that?_ She hadn't wanted to, but her mouth had moved on its own, instantly, the moment he'd demanded it of her. Her heart pounded, beginning to panic. "Wha-What do you want?" she asked.

The smile returned, but there was no amusement in it this time. There was something decidedly sinister about it. "I want to know what Matt Ellef tastes when he kisses you."

"What?"

_"Don't move."_

Suddenly, she was frozen against the wall of the alley. Every instinct was screaming at her to get away, but none of her muscles would obey. She couldn't speak, or even look away. Slowly, his hand came up to span her throat. He didn't squeeze, but she could feel the coiled strength lying in wait, and knew he could snap her neck if he wanted to. He leaned closer and closer, filling up her entire line of vision...

A high-pitched ringing cut through the scene.

"Fuck," Harry spat out, his expression distorting to one of intense annoyance. He leaned back from Clara, never having reached his intended destination. "Maybe another time," he said, mockingly throwing back Miss C's words from the last time they'd met. She wasn't sure how, but he produced a small white card in his hand and slowly, he slid it into the front pocket of her shirt, the paper rasping over her suddenly overly-sensitive skin through the cotton.

Then he left, fishing a still-ringing mobile out of the pocket of his hoodie. It wasn't until he was completely gone from the alley and out of her line of vision that Clara’s knees went liquid and she crumpled against the wall. Whatever spell had been on her, it was gone now. She wasn't sure what had just happened; suddenly, everything seemed rather cloudy...

She took the card out of her pocket and examined it. It was the plainest business card she'd ever seen; it only had a telephone number on it and nothing else, not even his name.

 _Okay,_ she thought, finding her legs and heading out of the alley as quickly as she could manage. _I am seriously creeped out now!_

What could she do about it, though? It wasn't as though she had any evidence that would be useful in filing a restraining order against a stalker. It was weeks between the times she saw him, she didn't even know his last name, and there were no witnesses to an assault and battery. She couldn't very well tell the police she had a _feeling_ about this guy.

She crumpled the card up and threw it in her purse. Later, she could think about what to do to avoid meeting up with Harry again. She was already late for coffee and chocolate with Jane.

* * *

“Yeah, what is it?”

Reinette’s eyes narrowed at Harry’s insolent tone of voice, only amplifying her irritation at him. “You bollocksed up, Harry,” she said, in a low, dangerous voice. “I had it all set up for you, she came to you all wrapped up in a neat little package, and you were supposed to take _care_ of her!”

“There were complications,” came Harry’s voice over the line. “It was obvious someone clued her in. Somebody on your end must have found out.”

“I would know if someone was playing me,” she said.

“I’m still trying to locate her.”

“Don’t bother. No more mistakes. I’ll take care of this myself. I trusted you with a simple task and you cocked it up. You won’t hang your mistakes on me.”

“I’m sorry, Reinette.” It sounded as though the words were ripped from him, painfully.

“Forgiveness is earned,” she said, cruelly. “Work a little harder next time.” She hung up as a knock came at her office door. “Come in, Williams.”

Rory entered and closed the door behind him. “I need to leave a little early today,” he said, looking incredibly nervous as he said it.

As it happened, Rory leaving early coincided with her plans. “Fine,” she said. He looked incredibly surprised that she’d agreed so easily. “I have an errand for you to run anyway. After you’ve finished it, you can be dismissed.” She leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk, removing a green glass bottle of wine. “Deliver this to Matthew Ellef,” she said, extending the bottle to her assistant. “He’s going to be staying downtown this weekend. Make sure he gets it.” Her chilling blue eyes bored deeply into Rory’s. “Make sure he drinks it.”


	16. Chapter 16

Rory looked down at the heavy wine bottle in his hands. “What’s in this?” he asked, suspiciously.

Reinette narrowed her eyes, unused to being questioned, especially by Rory. “One eye of newt and a tall glass of shut the hell up and do as I say. Your job is to be my delivery boy right now, not to ask me stupid questions.”

“I...” Rory’s hands tightened on the bottle and he set his jaw. “I can’t let you do this.”

 _“Let_ me?” she repeated, venomously.

“You’re going to toy with him, just like you toy with everyone. And I, of _all_ people, am not going to let that happen.”

Reinette cocked one hip and placed her hand on it. “May I remind you, you’re not really in any position to make demands.”

“I don’t care,” said Rory. “Go ahead. Tell him where to find me. Tell the whole bloody world. I would rather deal with him and all the hell he’ll rain down on me and everyone I love than deal with you for a second longer.” He leaned in close to her and bit out, “I quit.”

“What?”

“I quit!” he yelled and threw the bottle across the room. It shattered, red liquid spraying across the wall in a messy splat.

“Do you understand what you’re doing by giving up this job?” she asked.

“Fuck this job, fuck my secrets, and FUCK YOU,” he said, pointing right in her face. “Stay away from me. Stay away from Matt.”

“Or you’ll what?”

“I know what you’ve done,” he said.

She gave a delicate little laugh. “You can’t prove anything.”

“That’s true. But as you’ve so often told me, it only takes one whisper in the right person’s ear to take someone down. Just a hint of scandal is enough to ruin someone. And thanks to you, I know a _lot_ of the right people.”

She frowned. “You don’t want to take me on. I’m untouchable.”

“We finally agree on something,” he said, moving toward the door. “I don’t ever want to touch you again.” As he left, he slammed the door and never looked back.

* * *

The elegantly coiffed Jane smiled from a sunny table at Cafe Tardis and waved Clara over from the hostess' pedestal. She handed her a periodical, folded over to reveal the headline, 'Matthew Grayson Ellef – Celibate Celebrity?'

Clara giggled as she sat down and took the tabloid from Jane. She opened it to see a half-page collage of pictures, all featuring Matt, going to various industry events by himself. The article was short, basically expressing confusion on why he was going everywhere stag and how he wouldn't comment, except to say he's being exclusive, but he wouldn't say with whom. She also noticed that it was on page six. He was no longer front page news, which explained the lame title of the article.

"He's staying true to his word, isn't he, sweetie," said Jane with a sly feline smile, but it wasn't a question.

"He hasn't dated anyone else since he left," said Clara, gleefully. "He's scoring major points in the honesty department." The thought made her feel a little guilty, seeing as she hadn't been completely honest with him...

"When are you seeing him again?"

"Tonight."

"Be careful of photographers. Especially since they're losing some interest, when he travels, they're probably going to assume, and correctly, that he's seeing you. They'll be watching for that."

Clara shook her head. "I'm not worried. Any photographer who sees me with him is going to assume I'm his sister or something."

Jane shrugged, delicately picking up her coffee cup. "I'm just saying... Be careful."

Thinking of the earlier incident with Harry, although entirely unrelated to what Jane was talking about, she took heed to the warning and nodded. "I will."

* * *

It took a while for Rory to locate the right frat house, hidden as it was in the back of the dormitory area. He should have just looked for the shoddiest one. It looked about ready to fall down. He walked up to the door and knocked, not too hard, he wasn’t sure if the door would hold.

From inside, a male voice shouted, “Someone’s at the door!”

“Get it!” yelled a slightly nasal voice. “You’re right there!”

“Yeah, but I’m in the middle of something!”

“You have a pause button!”

Rory knocked again. “Hello? I’m still out here!”

“He’s still at the door!” said the first voice.

“It could be the pizza guy,” said a new voice.

“Then you get it, fat arse!”

“Fine, I will!”

A large guy in a triple-X uni sweatshirt opened the door. He looked Rory up and down, taking in his smart business suit. 

“You’re not the pizza guy, are you?” he asked.

Rory shook his head. “Uh, no. I’m here to see...” He glanced over his shoulder. “A friend. They live here.”

The guy called over his shoulder, “Hey, Einstein, this one of your dudes?”

A couple of guys walked out of the hallway, the blond’s mouth fell open when he saw Rory standing there. “Mr. Williams?” he asked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Recognition clicked. “Elton?”

“Oh, great!” came Amy’s voice from inside. “Now I know his name! Thanks a lot!” A door across the room opened. “Wait, is that… Rory?”

Rory was unprepared for the running headstart and the JUMP Amy executed before she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He stumbled back a few steps, emitting a loud “Oof!” Amy did not let go, peppering his face with kisses.

“Come inside!” she said. Left with no other alternative, Rory walked inside carrying Amy with him. No one saw the black car angled in the one clear line of sight to the frat house from the car park.

“Gotcha, Pond,” muttered Reinette. “After today’s display, I knew he’d lead me right to her.”

“You want me to finish the job?” asked Harry from the driver’s seat.

“No,” she said. “I meant what I said. I’m going to finish her myself.”

* * *

Amy dragged Rory down the hallway, away from the inquisitive frat boys who wanted to know all about her ‘man.’ “Virgil, Elton, whatever your name is now, I’m using your room!” Without waiting for a response, Amy pulled Rory inside the one single room and shut the door.

Instantly, her arms went around him and she snuggled close. “Rory, Rory, Rory! Oh, I missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said.

“My arms actually HURT because I couldn’t hold you!”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, attempting to get her to look at him. “Amy, I need to tell you--”

“No, no, you don’t,” she insisted, resting her forehead against his neck. “Not right now. I just need to hold you.”

“But…” He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Okay. It can wait.”

* * *

 _Oh, shit,_ were the only two words that came into Clara's head as she opened up the Daily Mail that Monday. There was nothing in it about her intermittent dates with Matt, but right there on the front page was a huge, black and white, slightly fuzzy image of Miss C and Matt locked in a heated embrace in a hotel lift. Sure, it was a month old, but only she, Matt, and the security guards knew that. The date at the bottom of the screen was conveniently missing. To the rest of the world, it could have happened yesterday.

 _Those bloody security guards,_ she thought. _They must have sold the surveillance tape. And those tabloid vultures... They were so desperate for some news on Matt that they bought it. Another 'mystery woman' encounter... And Reinette's going to know exactly who this mystery woman is. Well, hopefully she won't know it's_ me, _but she's going to want Miss C's arse on a pike even more than she already does…_

She looked at the cover for a few more minutes before a new thought blocked the imminent wrath of Reinette from her mind.

 _He's going to expect me to say something about this,_ she thought. _As his girlfriend, I should get really angry and want him to explain. But if I do that... I'm going to have to lie to him again. And this whole situation will just be a lie on top of another lie…_

She smoothed out the paper and took a critical look at it. _It's kind of blurry... It could possibly not be him, if I didn't know any better…_ She opened the paper to the full two-page spread and found herself staring at a close-up of the two of them. There could be no doubt that the male in the picture was Matthew Grayson Ellef. _Damn... What do I do?_

She crumpled the newspaper up and threw it in the bin under her desk. _I never saw this,_ she decided. _Sure, it's a lame excuse, considering I work in advertising, but I'm busy enough to not read tabs. I just won't say anything. If he brings it up, then... I'll cross that bridge if I get to it. In the meantime... I just can't lie to him anymore._ She couldn't deny, however, that part of her did want him to call and explain. He didn't know they were the same person, so Clara wouldn't know that this had happened before they had gotten together. The night before, in fact. Shouldn't he call and tell her all this?

She nearly jumped out of her chair when a large manila envelope was slapped violently down on her desk. Her eyes darted up to find Reinette standing there, with all the evils of Hell burning in her expression. Clara paled. She didn't even need to ask if Reinette had seen the papers this morning.

"Print it," her boss growled.

With some hesitance, Clara took the envelope and glanced over the specs. It was something she hadn't seen, which meant that Reinette had created this and proof-read it herself, and that just didn't happen. "This is for a party in three days," she said.

"And that's why you have to get it to print _now!"_ said Reinette, her tone brooking no argument. "I want it in all of the major papers, all over the city, and I want it done _now,_ Clara!" She stomped off to her office and slammed the door behind her.

After breathing a sigh of relief that the blurry images and the disguise hadn't failed her, she turned a page in the folder to see the rest of the ad. Reinette was advertising a party, held by Matthew Grayson Ellef, which was strange, since Matt's contract with Gallifrey expired two weeks ago. The party was scheduled for three days from then, formal affair, at a fancy hotel across town, pretty standard stuff, except for the fact that Matt hadn't told her about any of this... Maybe Craig had set it up?

And then she turned the next page.

_-Matthew Grayson Ellef requests the exclusive presence of the mystery woman known only as Miss C to be his special guest for the evening-_

Her eyes widened. _What?_ Craig wouldn't have known about that, so the party most definitely had been set up by Matt. But why was he asking for Miss C? Was he going to break up with Clara? _Okay, so maybe you've kind of been waiting for the other shoe to drop, but... Things had been going so well…_ She opened the drawer next to her and reached for the red phone, but hesitated. _No... I can't call him. What if he breaks up with me over the phone? Sure, it's not as bad as being broken up with by text, but still... Wait, okay, calm down... Maybe he's not going to break up with me. Maybe he just wants to talk to Miss C. I have no idea what for or why he'd throw a giant party to do it, but…_

"NOW, Clara!" bellowed Reinette from the office.

Clara leapt from her desk with the manila folder and practically ran out the door. She would just have to go to the party to find out what was going on. And that meant an appointment with Jane…

* * *

The home line at the Bothal house rang. With Theta upstairs taking care of Rose and Pete preparing dinner, it fell to Jackie to answer it. She leaned against the counter and cradled the receiver against her ear. “Hello?”

“Jackie!”

“River, how are you?”

“Well... that’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh, dear. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Harry,” River said, though Jackie had known it couldn’t be anything else. “He’s acting strangely.”

“Again? Or still?”

“Strange... er. He’s still killing people, but he’s going out and doing it in public more and more. It’s almost like he _wants_ to get caught. And now, he wants _us_ to start doing these terrible things.” River took a breath. “He took some of the pack out hunting last week… I can’t get Jack to come out of the bedroom now, and not in the way you’re thinking. Whatever happened really scared him.”

“If worse comes to worse, you could always come out here,” said Jackie.

“Well, there’s more.” River paused to collect her words. “He’s been... following this girl around. Well, stalking her, more like. He’s convinced that she’s the one for him.”

“Is that possibility?” asked Jackie.

“No, I checked her out myself. She doesn’t have the blood, but he’s still absolutely fixated on her. Said something about the way she smells, but I didn’t scent anything beyond a normal human.” River sighed. “I’m starting to fear what he might do to her... And then there’s Reinette Poisson.”

“Oh, no...”

“He’s at her beck and call. I don’t know what she did to him, but it’s almost as if she _tamed_ him. She has him doing all sorts of things for her, and Jackie... she smells.”

“What?”

“She smells... wrong. Bad, like I’ve never smelled in my whole life. I don’t know what to do, Jack doesn’t know what to do, I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“Calm down,” said Jackie. “We’re coming back.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. The sooner, the better, in this case.”

“But who’s going to challenge Harry?” River asked, nervously.

“River, things will turn out just fine,” said Jackie, calmly. “Trust me. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone and turned to see Theta standing in the doorway. “You heard?”

“Some. We’re going where?”

“Ready or not, it’s time to step up, Theta. We’re going back to London.”

He sighed. “I’ll start packing.”

* * *

"Matt!"

Matt closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, leaning his head back against the makeup chair. He'd recognize his agent's panicked holler anywhere. Sure enough, Craig came rushing into the dressing room two seconds later, waving a newspaper in his hand.

"What's wrong now, Craig?" he asked.

"You can't throw a party in London! You can’t throw a party HERE! You have too much to do!" he said. "You’re in the middle of a shoot in Scotland! You said you weren't going back to London until next weekend!"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" he warned, shaking a finger at him. "I called the hotel; they confirmed your reservations for the ballroom tomorrow." He again waved the newspaper in Matt's face. "Do you even know how busy you are? You don't have time to do this!"

Matt snatched the paper away from him. Since Craig wasn't making any sense as per usual, he'd have to find out the answers for himself. It wasn't difficult. The article about the ad took up an entire page. Apparently, it was big enough news to hit the stands all the way up in Scotland.

His brow furrowed in confusion when he got the gist of what was going on. "I didn't set this up," he said. At Craig's scoffing, he set down the paper and looked at him. "I _didn't,"_ he repeated. "Quit treating me like a kid. I _know_ I'm busy, so I _wouldn't_ have set this up, I'm just as surprised as you are." He looked over the ad again, and stopped when he saw the trademark at the bottom. "Gallifrey Advertising," he read out loud. "My contract with them expired..." He paused. _Regina’s behind this,_ he thought, suddenly. _She's going to find out who Miss C is at all costs because she's out of her merry little mind. Oh, no…_

He threw the paper aside and picked up his mobile, speed-dialing his girlfriend. It rang four times before going to voice mail. He sighed and ended the call. "Craig?"

"What?"

"I've got a party to go to."

* * *

 _Gotta hurry, gotta hurry, gotta hurry,_ Clara repeated over and over in her head as she blazed through her reports at the end of the day. _I've got to make my appointment with Jane; I've got to get to the party…_ She glanced at the clock, it was already after five. She sighed, typing faster. _Gotta hurry, gotta hurry, gotta hurry…_

The office line rang. Even though it was after hours, she automatically picked it up. "Reinette Poisson's office, she's gone home for the day--"

"Clara, it's me."

"Rory? What's wrong?" He sounded... heartbroken. "Can you tell me quick? I have to go--"

"It's Amy."

Her fingers skittered across the keys and she stopped typing. Something inside her filled with dread. "What about Amy?"

"They found her. She's... in the hospital."

She dropped the phone. Without finishing her work, turning off the computer, or even grabbing her phones from the desk drawer, she took her purse and ran for the parking garage.

* * *

Rory opened the door to the private room for her when Clara arrived, out of breath. His face was ashen.

"How is she?" Clara asked at once, not even greeting him.

He didn't seem to notice or care. "She's..." He swallowed, having some trouble getting the words out. "She's in a coma."

She swayed slightly, but Rory put a hand to her shoulder to steady her. "I'm fine," she said. "Just... tell me what happened."

"This is all my fault." He fell into a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands. "Somebody must have followed me to the university... I should have listened to you..."

Clara sat down next to him, dropping her purse on the floor. "It's not your fault..." she said, kindly. "Then what happened?"

He swallowed thickly before continuing. "The guys she was living with found her.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “She’d been poisoned. They thought she was dead, but the EMT found a weak pulse. The guys called me after she was already on the way here.” Rory broke down then, unable to continue his explanations.

Clara rose from the chair and went to the curtain separating her from her friend. As she pulled it back, her breath caught in her throat. Amy looked so small and pale underneath the hospital blanket, fluids going from a suspended bag above her to her arm through a tube. Silent, and unsmiling, Amy had never looked less like herself. Clara's eyes filled with tears, her heart filled with anger.

"We've got to stop Reinette," she said. "She's gone absolutely crazy."

"I can't help you anymore," Rory said, miserably looking up at her. "I quit my job."

"You... You actually stood up to Reinette?" she asked, incredulously.

He nodded.

All at once, she began laughing and crying uncontrollably. "Oh, Rory, I'm so proud of you!" she said, tears rolling across her cheeks. "Amy would be so proud, too. She’d make some weird comment about getting your balls out of the mason jar..." She looked at Amy's unmoving form, the tears beginning to come faster. "And she’d laugh... and try to gross me out by saying something about reattaching them... Oh, Amy! Say _something!_ Please!"

Rory stood up and wrapped his arms around her as she began to sob noisily, unable to say anything else. Clara buried her face against his shoulder and just gave herself up to the emotion. She'd never felt so very empty before, with one friend gone and the other seeming so close to death, she was on her own. And the empty place inside just kept filling with hopelessness the more she cried.

The door opened then and both of them looked up to see Jake peeking his head into the room.

"Sweetheart, you were supposed to be at the salon an hour ago," he said. "But as I understand it, you've had an unavoidable delay."

Clara stood back from Rory and wiped at her face to little effect. "I'm sorry, Jake... I should have called you, but... Oh..." She gestured between Rory and Jake as she continued to dab at her eyes. "Rory, this is Jake. Jake, Rory."

Jake' eyes lit up as he came into the room. "Hel-looo, handsome," he said.

"I'm straight," Rory blurted.

"Does that really matter?"

"Yes!"

Jake sighed. "That's too bad." He shrugged. "Oh, well." He opened the door again and pulled inside what looked like a giant tool chest on wheels. "I came prepared, sugar. We can get you all ready for the party right here."

She shook her head. "I'm not going."

"What?"

"I can't," she said. "My best friend is in the hospital!"

Jake put his hands to his hips and tilted his head at Clara. "Now, is that what you think your friend would want you to do? Stay here and get your eyes all red and puffy over her, or go out and find out what the heck is going on with your boy-toy?" He looked over at Amy, his forehead wrinkling slightly. "Oh, now, honey... That look is so not working for you." From one of the drawers of the tool chest, he produced a sparkling tiara and placed it on her head. "There you go, princess. You know I'm right, don't you?" He looked back at Clara. "She says 'hell, yes.'"

"I think you should go," said Rory.

"What?" She stared at him. "And leave Amy like this?"

"She's not going anywhere," he pointed out. "And neither am I. I'll stay with her. What's more important is the fact that you know Reinette's going to be at this party. Since you're the only one with access to her now, you have to go and try to get some information. For Amy's sake."

"For your own sake, too," said Jake. "And your sweetie’s. Are you going to let that bitch sink her teeth in your man when you don't show up?"

Clara bit her lip, thinking it all over. "You're right," she said, at last. "I have to go." She smiled, faintly. "I _was_ invited."

Jake grinned. "Wonderful! Now sit down and let me get started on styling your hair."

"Huh? I thought we were going to use hairpieces or a wig or something... You know, like normal."

"Clara, sweetie, I’ve been wanting to say this for a while now. You have beautiful hair and naturally lovely features. You don’t need a wig or fancy makeup. Tonight, we’re going to showcase _you._ " He made an airy gesture. “Just ‘red carpet’ you.”

Clara managed a soft laugh as she scrubbed the tears from her face.

* * *

“How is my wolfie-boy?” Reinette purred into the phone.

The slightly echoed quality of Harry’s voice told her he was talking on his bluetooth. “What do you want?”

“You always assume I want something.”

“You always do.”

“You catch on quick.” Her flirty tone was replaced with a commanding one. “There’s a party I need you to be at tonight.”

“Is this the trap you’ve set?”

“Once the ‘guest of honor’ arrives, I want you to take care of her.” She paused, so that there could be no mistaking her instructions. “Permanently.”

Harry chuckled darkly. “Perfect. She won’t know what hit her.”

* * *

Working with Clara's natural dark brown hair, Jake brushed pieces of her hair up into a complex bun and secured each piece with tiny sparkly silver clips. The hairstyle accented the shape of her face and her cheekbones in particular. The whole thing was topped off with the tiara, re-commandeered from Amy's head. The make-up included gray and silver eye shadow which made her dark eyes enormous and very bright; her lips were more subtle, with a light neutral pink color followed by a lip plumping gloss.

Lastly, Jake took a dress bag from the top of the tool chest and handed it to her. "The finishing touch," he said.

"I really would like to know where you get these clothes," said Clara. "And how they fit me so perfectly."

"Actually, this is something I got from _your_ closet," he said with a smile.

 _"My_ closet?" she repeated. But there was nothing in there that would be appropriate for a formal event... Was there? He left her alone in the loo to change and she unzipped the bag.

Inside, she found her wedding dress.

Except that it was no longer a wedding dress. It had been altered considerably. The train had been cut off and new panels had been artfully inserted to make it a slightly larger size. The sleeves had been removed and boning was sewn into the bodice to support the new, strapless design. Much of the poofy petticoat had been removed, and the whole thing had been dyed a light blue. It now looked like a formal gown.

"Honey, if you cry, your mascara is going to run," said Jake from outside the loo.

How he knew she had been about cry, she had no idea. But she blinked the tears away and carefully changed into the beautiful gown. It fit her like he'd known her exact measurements. The skirt moved gracefully around her feet. Her waist felt incredibly tiny. Her reflection in the mirror spoke volumes and that was a good thing, because she was speechless. She looked, and felt, like a princess.

When she came out of the bathroom, Rory's mouth fell open.

"You... You clean up... good," he said, apparently at a loss. "If I hadn't seen the transformation myself, I would never believe you were Clara Oswald."

"Thanks," she said, dryly.

"Oh, pay no attention to him," said Jake. "He's just a man." He smiled at his creation. "You look absolutely stunning. And you are going to blow that man away. In more ways than one, I hope."

"Jake!"

"Oh, come on! Amy thought it was funny!"

She smiled. "Yeah... I'm sure she does." She buckled on the trademark rhinestone shoes. "All right, I'm ready." She glanced at the clock and her smile fell in dismay. She hadn't realized that the switch from Clara to Miss C had taken so long this time. "It's almost eleven! I'll never make it across town in my piece of junk car. The party's only going on until midnight." She looked hopefully at Jake. "I don't suppose your cabbie friend--"

He shook his head. "Tonight's Kevin's night off."

Clara frantically wracked her brain for a way she could get to the party. Suddenly, she looked up at the hairdresser, hope dawning in her expression. "Jake," she said, going over to him. "I don't know how you do it, but you're always right where you need to be, right when you need to be there. I won't ask questions, I don't care how you do it, but please, get me to that party!"

Jake smiled. "Close your eyes." He glanced at Rory. "You, too, cutie."

Clara closed her eyes and waited. And waited. "Jake?" she ventured. She opened her eyes again.

She stood at the entrance to the hotel. She gaped for a moment, then shook her head. "No questions. Just accept." With an air of determination, she headed inside.

Upon entering the hotel, Clara was immediately struck by a sense of overwhelming disorientation. Milling about everywhere were women of various ages, but every single one of them was dressed in red, in versions of either what she'd worn to the after-party or to the Canary Club. All of them sported either dark auburn hairpieces or cropped pink wigs.

And each one of them turned to watch her enter. Of course, being all in blue, she stood out like a peacock among hens. Instantly, all eyes narrowed. Somehow, every woman knew that this was the _real_ Miss C, and she would be the one to get the prize they all sought.

Clara swallowed and bravely made her way through them, head held high, as she ascended the staircase at the center of the lobby. According to the signs posted, the Crystal Ballroom was near the end of the long hallway. She passed by the fountain at the top of the stairs, a few banquet rooms, the hotel restaurant, and loud music was coming from a small entertainment area outside the bar. Apparently, some kids were playing one of those dancing video games...

"Fine, Clara," said a very familiar voice as she passed by the area. "Don't even say hello. I don't want to talk to you anyway... bitch."

She wheeled around, her eyes gone wide. "Rose?"

Her best friend was sitting in a plush chair a fair distance away from the video games. She looked incredible in her black formal gown, her blonde hair was lustrous, and, this was very new, she looked amazingly confident, but it was undoubtedly Rose. She smiled at Clara. "Hey," she said.

Clara ran over to her, wrapping her tightly in a hug the moment she stood up. "Oh, my God, Rose! I've missed you! Where have you been?" She paused momentarily. "And how did you know it was me?"

"You're the only person I know who wears that perfume," she said, confusing Clara even more. "I've missed you, too."

"So, where's the Doctor? Are you guys still... together? And, uh... serious?"

Rose grinned and held up her left hand. A solitary diamond sparkled from her third finger. "Yeah. We're serious."

"Oh, my God! Rose!" She hugged her friend again. "Well, where is he?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh... There's my goofy jumping bean, over there," she said, nodding toward the Dance Maniac game which was currently blasting _Play That Funky Music, White Boy._

Clara watched the Doctor jump around in his tuxedo for a moment, bewildered. "Is he... having a seizure?"

"I thought so, too, the first time. But apparently, that's how the game is played." She turned her attention back to Clara. "How's Amy?"

She hesitated. "Oh, yeah... You don't know."

"Know what?"

"Amy's in the hospital."

Rose's genial expression fell into one of deadly seriousness. "What?" The word was pitched in such a low tone, it could only be described as growled, which sent a shiver down Clara's spine, even though she knew the hostility wasn't directed at her. "Tell me what happened, Clara."

She almost didn't want to, Rose sounded so threatening, but she went on. "Reinette... well, she tried... to kill her."

"Oi, Rose!" the Doctor said as he came hurrying up to the two of them. "I just beat my high score--" He stopped, seeing the look of building anger on Rose’s face. Clara knew that look. That was Rose losing control, but she'd never seen it on such an enormous scale before. She looked as though she might actually murder someone. Immediately, the Doctor took Rose's shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him. "Rose, calm down," he said in a low, even tone. "Breathe it out."

Rose took a long, calming breath, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she and the Doctor exchanged a look that Clara didn't understand. The Doctor then looked at Clara. "Did I hear you right?" he asked, even though Clara wasn't sure how he could have heard anything with that loud music playing. "Reinette tried to hurt someone?"

"She tried to kill Amy. Well, she hired someone to do it, but..."

"Wait!" Rose practically screeched. Before Clara could ask what was going on, her friend seized her purse and began rifling through it.

"Hey! What are you--" Clara began.

"This!" said Rose, prizing up a fistful of things from Clara's purse. She opened up her hand to the Doctor, showing him what appeared to be a lipstick, a few crumpled receipts, a wadded up business card, and some hair pins. "Smell this!" she demanded of him.

Clara couldn't understand her friend's behavior. She wasn't acting quite... sane. She could understand her being upset by the news of Amy's hospitalization, and while Rose wasn't the type to break down and cry, it didn't make sense that she was frantic, almost bordering on paranoia, and angry beyond belief. To her continued confusion, the Doctor did as Rose bade him, but oddly enough, the action seemed completely natural between the two of them. The Doctor's expression hardened, and suddenly, he was no longer the goofy waiter Clara knew. He looked implacable, formidable, even. A man to be reckoned with.

“It’s him,” he said in a hard tone. “Just like River said. He’s involved in this somehow.”

In a fit of rage, Rose balled her fist up, reared it back, and threw the contents across the room with all her might. Now, granted, the only thing of any considerable mass was the lipstick, so Clara was quite shocked when it hit the Dance Maniac game and broke the glass console screen with a loud crash and an even louder pop that sounded like a gunshot. A second look, around all the people who were then running away from the smoking machine, revealed that the hairpins had stuck in the wall like thrown knives.

The Doctor, who hadn't appeared phased by any of this, looked at Clara, very seriously. "Don't leave the party. We have to go do something, but we'll come back for you. Especially don't leave the party with anyone strange, got it?"

She nodded, taking her purse back. Rose was already rapidly moving off in the direction of the staircase. The Doctor jogged off to catch up to her. Over his shoulder, he said, "Hi, by the way, Clara!"

Stunned as she was by that encounter, it took Clara a moment to recover herself and begin heading once more toward the designated banquet hall.

* * *

Reinette was standing at the head of the Crystal Ballroom, fending off continuous demands as to where the guest of honor was. With increasing impatience, she explained that Mr. Ellef was very busy and he'd be late if he made it at all, but he was trying very hard to get there...

"Do you know how difficult it is to rent a decent tuxedo in three hours?" Matt asked her as he approached from behind, having entered through the connecting kitchen. “I had to go with the white tie and tails.” He straightened the bow tie. “Although, I do feel a bit like Fred Astaire.”

Reinette jumped a mile. "Mr. Ellef!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "What an... unexpected surprise."

"I'll bet," he said. "I didn't give you permission to throw this party in my name."

"Well, yes, you did," said Reinette. "It's in your contract--"

"Which expired over two weeks ago," he interrupted. "As I'm sure you're well aware."

"I thought you'd be pleased," she said, giving him a pout that undoubtedly worked on many an unsuspecting man. "After all, we're finding your 'mystery woman' for you..."

Matt knew better than to try and get the real reason out of her. She was too smooth for that. "If I thought it was possible, I would say you might be more interested in finding her than I am. You're about to be in a lot of trouble, Ms. Vosson, and you'll be hearing from my lawyer in the morning. If I were you, I'd call off this ridiculous farce right now while you can still try and save face. Now, pardon me… I have someone I need to find."

He disappeared through the kitchen before any of the women in the room found out he was there. That would put a dent in his plan to rescue the _real_ guest of honor. Going around the back, he found his way to the ballroom hallway and scanned the area. For some reason, people were running for the lobby staircase, which made it a little difficult to see, but his eyes found their target unerringly.

She was a vision in her light blue gown amidst the sea of red and black, her dark hair shining in the false candlelight. She had her back to him, her face in profile. She looked a little lost, but he couldn't blame her for not being able to find the right hall in all the chaos. He weaved his way through the people and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Come with me," he said before taking her hand and leading her away.

* * *

Clara followed Matt as he led the way to the nearest door marked 'Moonlight Banquet Hall.' He tried the handle as though he wasn't sure it would open, but the door yielded and they went inside the dim empty room. Instantly, he was kissing her.

"I didn't arrange this party," he told her, between kisses. "And I didn't invite you." More kisses. "I came because I had to warn you that Robin’s going to try and find you out."

"How very considerate," she said, during a break for air.

He kissed her one more time before pulling away, his hands framing her face. His eyes searched hers before he gently asked her, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She blinked. "Tell you what?"

"You had the whole ticket. The stub wasn't torn. But you had to have gone because you had the name tag. But you didn't wear it."

Her eyes went wide and she backed away from him a few steps until her back hit the door they'd come through. "I... don't know what you're..." _No,_ she thought. _I don't want to lie to him again._ She glanced around them for a way out, but she was leaning up against the nearest exit.

"I know it's you," Matt was saying. "The way you said certain things... And every time I kissed you, I felt like I'd done it before. That, and you talk in your sleep."

Somewhere, a clock began to chime the hour. _It must be midnight,_ she thought.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before now, you really were right in front of me the entire time. I think, in my heart, I knew. Because it has to be you, I _know_ it's you. Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again.

"Oh, God," she said, her voice trembling. Everything was crumbling apart inside and falling down around her. After everything he'd said, and everything she'd done... There was no hope for it. "You must hate me..." Suddenly, she couldn't look at him anymore. She didn't want to cry in front of him and she couldn't stand to wait there and have him tell her just exactly how much he hated her. Quickly, she turned and opened the door.

"Wait!" he said, but the door crashed into his shoulder as she opened it, stopping him from grabbing her. "Ow!" It took him a moment to recover, and she ran down the hallway.

He followed. His progress was hampered by the fact that many more people were running for the staircase then, and just about every bellboy in the hotel was running in the opposite direction with fire extinguishers. He tried to make up for the distance between them by yelling after her. _That_ progress was hampered as well... "Stop! Wait! Catherine! Kelly! Cassandra! Candy! Cora!..."

Clara was having problems of her own. As she ran, she tripped over the hem of her gown, tearing a hole through the bottom and leaving several layers of tulle behind. She could feel the clips holding her hair in the bun coming loose and some were falling out, letting her hair come down. As she ran by a potted tree too closely, one side of her skirt caught and ripped. She kept running, dodging around people as best she could, despite the fact that things were literally starting to fall apart.

Worst of all, as she rounded a corner, the strap of her right shoe broke and she tripped, falling flat on her face. The tiara flew off her head. She got up quickly enough, tearing another hole through the gown in the process, but she had to leave the shoe wherever it had fallen from her foot. _I'm sorry, Jake,_ she thought as she ran for the nearing staircase. _I'll work out a payment plan and buy you a new pair._ Three more of her clips came out as she wrenched off the other shoe while continuing to run.

Meanwhile, the guessing game continued at a distance behind her. "...Chandra! Cindy! Colleen! Clarice! Cleo!..." Then, at the final stroke of midnight, "Clara!"

She skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs, performing an odd kind of pirouette to turn around and gape at Matt, who had also stopped running and looked just about as stunned as she felt. He'd actually remembered her name! She couldn't stop because of that, though... She turned around to keep running and found herself nose to nose with the last person she'd wanted to face.

Reinette's sparkly eyes narrowed to dangerous cat-like slits. _"Clara,"_ she hissed in a voice devoid of anything but hate. "It was _you,"_ she said. Her fingers curved into claws and she grabbed Clara by the shoulders, probably about to tear her limb from limb with her bare hands. _"You_... My own _secretary!"_

She couldn't stay and take Reinette's abuse now. "I don't have time to deal with you!" Clara told her, trying to squirm out of her grip.

"You _what?"_ said Reinette, who was only holding her tighter and more painfully.

"I..." She glanced over at Matt, who was starting to run toward her again. She struggled violently and she and Reinette maneuvered an odd dance, turning in a circle at the top of the stairs, but Reinette refused to let go. Clara drew back her fist. "I... I quit!" she yelled, punching her ex-boss in the face with all the strength she could muster.

Reinette reeled back, her legs hitting the edge of the large marble fountain that was the focal point of the stairs. Her balance was lost because of the six inch heels she was wearing, and she teetered for one glorious second, then fell with a great splash into the water.

Clara didn't stay to find out what would happen when Reinette surfaced. She ran down the stairs, and this time people parted like the Red Sea for her, many having just seen what had happened, the rest turning to see what the blonde in the fountain was screeching about, or why a famous movie star was chasing after the girl in the wrecked dress.

She ran out of the front doors of the hotel and a black car with a vanity plate that read 'ALPHAML' stopped directly in front of her, the passenger door opening in the same motion.

 _"Get in,"_ said Harry.

Nevermind what her head wanted to do, her body obeyed the order at once.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic violence.

The doors of the car had remote locks that would only open when the car was turned off, or if Harry chose to unlock them. And Clara didn't see that happening anytime soon. She was terrified; not only of what was potentially going to happen to her at the hands of this man, but of the power he'd exhibited over her more than once now. She'd left her mobiles at the office when she'd heard about Amy, so she couldn't call for help. She glanced around to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon, but the only thing to hand was the remaining rhinestone shoe. So, unless she managed to jab him in the eye with the heel, she was on her own.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked him, trying to sound braver than she felt. She was met only with an unsettling smile for an answer, as Harry forced the accelerator to the floor.

"The country. It’s a beautiful night. Thought we'd check it out."

“Why?"

With a hint of hostility, he glanced at her. "You ask too many questions."

She cowered against the door, as far from him as possible. "Sorry. When I get into people's cars for no reason, I kind of like to know what's going on."

"Don't worry, baby," he said with that same smile. "You'll find out soon enough." This statement was punctuated by the index finger of his free hand sliding from her opposite bare shoulder to her throat and around behind her neck.

A cold chill followed the progress of his finger and she shuddered. He laughed low in his throat, a growling sound that was probably going for sexy, but it only served to creep her out even more.

"Um... I really want to go home," she said, doubtful that voicing her desires would do any good.

"Shh..." he said, and his attempt at soothing was no better than his attempt at sexy. "It's not time to leave Oz, yet, Dorothy. We've got a ways to go... Why don't you get some sleep."

She was much too afraid to do anything of the kind. "Uh... No."

_"Sleep."_

Darkness claimed her immediately.

“Don’t worry, Lucy,” said Harry, softly. “She can’t get to you this time.”

* * *

_“You have GOT to be kidding,” said Lania, absolutely outraged, as she stared at Harry._

_“I want you to meet her,” said Harry._

_She tossed her long, brunette hair. “Oh, I’ve seen her. And what you’re thinking is impossible!” She sidled up to him, running her fingers up his shirt to his shoulders. “You already have me. You don’t need anyone else.”_

_Harry looked away from her. “I know, I know, it’s just...” He made a frustrated noise. “When she’s around... I feel... different.” He rubbed his forehead. “Things get quiet.” He looked up, the conflict in his hazel eyes gone, replaced with a calm seriousness. “Lania, I’m going to turn her, whether or not you approve. Lucy is mine. I know it.”_

_She pushed away from him, disgusted. “She can’t BE yours when you’re already mine! And even if you weren’t, she’s completely unsuitable. Have you_ smelled _her? Common as dirt! Think of your bloodline, she’s beneath you!”_

 _Harry clenched his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s why I want you to meet her, not just LOOK at her, MEET her! You don’t know her at all, but if you took just one minute to talk to her, you’d see...” He paused and took a breath, calming himself. “You’d see what_ I _see.”_

_“At least look at this from a reasonable point of view,” she said. “She’s a student. You’re a faculty member.”_

_“You’re telling ME this?” he asked, incredulous. “Who exactly is it that’s tied up to your bed right now?”_

_“That’s different,” Lania sniffed. “She just_ isn’t _suitable. In our world, or hers.”_

_“Will you meet her, or not?” he asked sharply, tired of what she was saying._

_She turned away with a sigh. “This is...” Suddenly, she turned back to Harry with a smile. “You know... You’re absolutely right. I think I_ should _meet her.”_

_He narrowed his eyes. “Why the sudden change of heart?”_

_She shrugged. “Who better than I to see if she truly belongs with you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Tomorrow. Around midnight. Our special place.”_

* * *

_Harry entered his office, one hand behind his back. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he saw who was sitting on his desk. The blonde looked up with a grin. In his peripheral vision, he could see she was wearing that skirt he loved and a v-necked pink jumper, but they were no match for the beauty of her clear blue eyes that sparkled as they looked at him. Instantly, her light calmed the dark places within him._

_“Did you talk to her?” she asked._

_“Yes,” he said, “but first...” He pulled the bouquet of pink and white lilies from behind his back, his smile broadening at her gasp of delight._

_“Oh, how sweet!” She tilted her head at him, her expression knowing. “This is the third bunch of Miss Lucy’s you’ve given me, you know.”_

_He shrugged. “I can’t see them without thinking about you,” he said._

_Lucy set the bouquet on the desk beside her and grabbed him by the front of his dark navy jumper, pulling him forward for a kiss. His hands went around her as he settled his body between her knees. Her scent drifted up around him and his arms tightened on her, scooting her forward on the desk until her torso was flush against his. He felt a shiver chase itself up her spine as she pulled away and he couldn’t help a smug grin of male pride._

_“So, did you tell her?” she asked, slightly breathless._

_“Not yet.”_

_She frowned. “Harry, you said you’d tell her we were going away!”_

_He traced the backs of his fingers along her jaw. “It’s important to me that you meet her first.”_

_She sighed. “When?”_

_“Tonight. We’ll leave right after. I promise.”_

_“Good.” She smiled again, twining her fingers behind his neck. “Because I’m tired of sneaking around when I want to see you.” She took a deep breath. “I’d be lying, though, if I said I wasn’t nervous about meeting your mother.”_

_Harry grimaced. “She’s my... mentor, actually.”_

_Lucy furrowed her brow in confusion. “Oh. I thought you said she was your family.”_

_“My family’s a little different, like I’ve said.” He shook his head. “It’ll make more sense once you’ve met Lania.”_

_Her smile was gentle, the one she only gave to him. “I’ll look forward to it. Because then, it’ll just be the two of us.” She worried her bottom lip a bit, betraying her nerves. “I know you’ve told me a little about the process... Is it going to hurt? I mean, do you_ have _to... bite me?”_

_He smoothed her hair back with one hand. “Eventually, you’d go through this process on your own, doing it this way just makes it go faster. And the bite doesn’t hurt. When you’re meant for it, it’s not like an animal bite. It’s like... coming home.” He ducked his head a little to look in her eyes. “We could wait, if you want.”_

_She shook her head instantly. “No. I want to be yours. Now.”_

_He smiled. “Tonight.”_

_She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It’s so strange. I feel like my life has just been waiting for you to come along.” She leaned back, making a face. “Is that weird and cliche? You can tell me if it is.”_

_He chuckled, amused. “I’m not the English professor.” He cupped her face in his palms. “But I think I know what you mean,” he said, softly. Leaning down, he brought his lips to hers, every nerve ending coming to life at her touch._

* * *

_The moon shone down on the trees in the botanical garden, already turning their fall colors, though the moonlight turned the leaves a bright silver. Harry couldn’t see the leaves, or the trees, or any of the surrounding plants... All he could see was the blood. Bright crimson streaks on the garden path and on the rocks separating it from the dying flower beds. A growing pool of the red liquid was spreading from Lucy’s body, lying crumpled on the ground._

_“What did you do?” His voice was hoarse, thin and hollow._

_Lania looked over her shoulder at him as her claws retracted. Blood dripped from her fingers. “I had to,” she said. “It was for your own good.”_

_Harry’s vision narrowed to the woman on the ground and he dashed to her side. “Lania, what did you DO?!” Carefully, he took Lucy in his arms, turning her onto her back. She was bleeding from four gashes across her torso, which he frantically applied pressure to, unwilling to believe that she couldn’t be saved. Her eyes were still open, but she seemed to be choking on her own breath._

_“Harry...” she whispered. “So cold...”_

_“She wasn’t good enough for you,” said Lania. “I had to make you see that. She’s nothing!”_

_“You’re wrong!” Harry shouted, his vision blurring as tears filled his eyes, pouring unchecked down his face. He rocked Lucy in his embrace, as if he could hold her to life as easily as he could hold her in his arms._

_Lucy struggled to keep her eyes open. “You promised... you’d make me yours...”_

_“No, no,” said Harry, his voice breaking, as Lucy’s breathing became even more labored. “Lucy, listen, you’ve got to breathe. Breathe for me, please!”_

_“Oh, get up,” said Lania, talking over his increasingly desperate pleas, utterly disgusted with him. “This is beneath you. Can you even hear yourself? This little nothing has reduced you to a whinging, snivelling bitch.” She took a step closer, leaning down towards him. “You don’t NEED her. You’re MINE. You don’t need anyone else!”_

_“YOU needed someone else!” he said over his shoulder, brokenly._

_“Oh, Theta.” She laughed softly. “He’s just a little whelp. When he comes back from wherever he ran off to, I’ll just have to kill him._ You _have real potential. A true alpha. You could put Pete in his place. You could put anyone in their place.”_

_Harry wasn’t listening. He couldn’t hear Lania above the beating of his heart, thrumming loudly in his ears, as he watched his love give her last breath and close her eyes forever. The place within that Lucy filled with her light was empty and barren. Instead, he could only feel... rage._

_“Not good enough,” he muttered. “She’s not good enough?” Gently, he laid Lucy’s body back down, her hair falling through his fingers as he stood up. “Have to make you see..._ Nothing _is good enough...”_

_“Harry? Are you listening?” asked Lania, annoyed._

_“You’re not good enough.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_Harry’s tendons began to pop and his bones cracked as his body took on more mass and his hands elongated into claws. The seams of his suit ripped and split as the upper half of his body transformed._

_“Have to... make you see,” he growled, his face lengthening, his teeth growing sharper._

_Lania’s eyes widened. “Harry, what are you doing? Stop!”_

_But he wouldn’t. He turned around, more wolf than man, snarling viciously. “Not... good... enough!”_

_He leapt at her, faster than the human eye could follow, ripping and tearing at her flesh with teeth and claws. Her screams of agony and terror filled the air, the scent of her fear thick and red. Her blood soaked him, her screams eventually tapering off, but still he continued, his fury spurring him on, until there was very little left that was recognizable._

_Standing over the dark red splatter of flesh and bones that had once been a woman, he panted hard, his breath misting in the early morning air, mixing with the steam that rose from the blood that covered him. With a high-pitched whine, he lumbered back to Lucy, groaning as his body shrank back to its normal size. He tilted his head one way and then the other, cracking it, as his bones settled._

_He knelt at Lucy’s side, his fingers stroking her soft, but cold, cheek. A streak of blood followed the progress of his fingers. “Lucy...” His eyes hardened as his hand fisted in her blonde hair. “Mine. You’re mine, baby. You’ll_ always _be mine. Just like I promised.”_

_He took her in his arms and stood, carrying her away. Lucy was his mate. He would take care of her._

* * *

_"Time to wake up."_

Clara had never awoken from a sound sleep so quickly before. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Harry hovering above her with that slightly sinister smile. For a moment, she thought he was going to ravish her right there in the car.

"Get out," he said, before opening the driver's door and exiting the car.

 _Oh, thank God,_ she thought. _He's going to let me go!_

She blindly reached for the handle and wrenched the door open. Clara stepped out of the car and saw that they were pulled off the road and in the middle of a field of grass with some trees in the distance. The ground was cold under her bare feet. Stars shone above, and it might have been a romantic atmosphere if she wasn’t so bloody terrified.

Harry was right in front of her, closing the passenger door as he stepped closer to her, pinning her up against the vehicle with his body, a hand resting on the car on either side of her. His proximity was decidedly uncomfortable and she squirmed, her gaze sliding away.

He leaned in close to her and took a deep breath through his nose, creating a rush of cold air across her shoulder, near her neck, as though breathing her in.

"So," he said, his tone knowing, but rather menacing. "He's already tasted you."

"What?"

He looked at her, appearing more than a little annoyed at all her questions. "He's fucked you," he stated bluntly. "You hadn't been the last time we met. At least, not in the extremely literal sense."

She blinked, her face turning red. "Not that it's any of your business, but how would you know that?"

He lifted one of his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "A woman becomes more desirable each time a man fucks her." His gaze slid obscenely over her body. "I want you so much more than the first time we met." His expression hardened and he grabbed her shoulder, roughly. "How many times has he fucked you?" he demanded, as though he had a right to know, shaking her. "How many?"

Clara struggled, but his grip was like iron. “You’re hurting me...”

His eyes narrowed. "You're thinking about _him,_ aren't you?" he asked, darkly. "Pretty little poncy actor boy."

"No! No, I'm not," she said, hurriedly. It was also starting to occur to her that this man might not be altogether there in the head.

He smiled at her, all the menace in his face melting away to an expression of comfort. His grip on her shoulder loosened and his hand trailed down her arm. "Don't worry. In a few minutes, you won't think about him ever again."

 _"What?"_ she exclaimed.

"I claimed you. Lania took you from me, but now you'll be mine, like I promised. You'll only think about me. And we'll belong to each other, Lucy."

"My name is Clara, not Lucy!"

His eyes were unnaturally bright. “It doesn’t matter what your name is. You smell the same.”

“You’re mad!”

_"Don't move."_

_Not again!_ she thought, but she was already immobile. He leaned closer to her and her heart thundered in her chest like a hummingbird's. _Oh, God! What is he going to do to me? Am I going to get raped in the middle of a field? Why can't I move? Somebody, help me!_

She could feel his lips at her throat, moving down to her bare shoulder, something that felt divine when Matt had done it, but the sensation was again something akin to a procession of ants with Harry. And then...

"OW!"

His head jolted back at her startled exclamation of pain, his eyes widening slightly. "That hurt?" he asked, surprised.

"YES, THAT HURT!" she yelled at him. "You just BIT me, you bastard!" Some dim part of her brain was telling her that it was probably unwise to yell at someone who was potentially insane, but anger and pain were temporarily overriding it. "Good God, what's WRONG with you? Am I bleeding? OWW!"

He straightened, standing back from her, his expression turning to one of resignation. "That shouldn't have happened," he said. “It shouldn’t have hurt.”

"Well, it did!" she said, angrily.

"You don't have it in you," he said, his eyes full of sadness. He seemed disappointed… More than that, heartbroken. “You can’t really be her.”

"Her, who?"

"She really is gone.” His expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as they sparked fire at her. “This is all _your_ fault!”

"What? But I--"

"I have to kill you."

"H-huh?" Her heart stuttered. Oh, yeah... This is the bad guy. To her dismay, she found she still couldn't move. "Wait, why?"

His hands were once again reaching for her throat, much as they had that day in the alley, but now with a much more sinister intent. "You’re not her. You’re not good enough," he said with an eerie calm.

"I swear I won’t say anything about what happened!" she squeaked as his fingers circled her neck. "I don't know anything! In fact, I'm even more confused than usual! Let me go! Please, let me go!" Her words stopped as her air was slowly cut off...

_CRACK._

Clara's eyes went wide as Harry froze, his mouth opening in a startled 'O.' He fell like a sack full of lead to the ground. Once the eye contact had been broken, Clara found she could move again and she looked up to see Rose, dressed in jeans and her red coat now, dropping an enormous tree branch next to Harry's body.

Rose snorted. “Psychotic arse.” She looked up at Clara, glared at her, then grabbed her hand and began to run across the field toward the trees with her at a mad dash. "What part of 'don't leave the party with anyone strange' did you NOT understand?" asked Rose as they ran. "'Stay there, we'll be back for you,' does that ring any bells?"

"I'm sorry," said Clara, trying to hold up her skirt and hang onto the remaining rhinestone shoe at the same time as they ran. "Why are we running? You hit him with a tree!"

"That won't stop him," she said, though Clara couldn't fathom why it shouldn't. "Don't worry. The Doctor's taking care of him. Fuck, Clara! Not only do you leave the party, but you leave with the WORST possible person!"

"I'm sorry!" Clara gasped. Since when was Rose able to run this fast? Then again, Clara was trying to run through the countryside in a torn ball gown and bare feet. "He told me to get in the car and I had to... It doesn't make any sense! How does he get me to do whatever he wants?"

"Just like this! _Shut up and run!"_

Suddenly, Clara found she had enough strength to keep running, but not to keep talking. She and Rose ran on until they reached the other side of the copse of trees where Rose lifted her head, seeming to listen for something, though Clara didn't hear anything but a wolf howling.

"Here," said Rose, shoving a wallet into her hands. "Take this.” She pointed off in the distance. “The road is straight in that direction. Get to a cab. Go home. Lock the doors. Be safe!"

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Go!"

"Whose wallet is this?"

"Does it MATTER?" Rose gave her friend a shove before she started heading back into the trees. "Get out of here! And don't stop until you get back to your flat!"

The entire situation made absolutely no sense, but Clara turned and ran for the main road in hopes of flagging a cab. Fortunately, she managed to find one almost immediately and the cabbie didn't speak much English, so she was free to wilt in the backseat as he drove to her flat.

 _This is not a good night,_ she decided, miserably. _My best friend is in a coma from which she might not wake up. My other best friend is locked in a death match with some homicidal maniac. My boyfriend hates me, I'll probably never see him again. And I no longer have a job. This... sucks._ Thank God the cab driver couldn't talk to her; she really didn't want to explain why she suddenly burst into tears in his car.

Once she reached home, she took off the tattered dress and threw it and the shoe on a chair. Good thing she wasn't getting married, probably ever. The dress was unsalvageable, stained with mud and torn as it was. Sniffling, she used antiseptic cream where the psycho had bit her shoulder, covered it with a large plaster, then slathered more cream on the soles of her feet and bandaged them.

She changed into an oversized t-shirt, reached into her fridge for a pint of Ben and Jerry's, grabbed a spoon, and began eating in front of the telly which was playing some news program. She wasn’t really paying attention. She was halfway through her second carton of Half Baked when she realized that, incredibly, it wasn't helping. The void inside of her would not be filled. Apparently, this was a pain that not even ice cream could cure.

That didn't mean she would stop eating it. Or that she wouldn't cry, because even if the tears just served to make her feel emptier, she couldn't have stopped them from falling. Not by a long shot.

* * *

The black van was just pulling up near Harry’s car as Rose ran back into the field. Harry stood up, using the hood of his car for leverage. He rubbed the back of his head and shot a furious look at Rose.

“Damn bitch,” he spat at her. “Where’d you take her?”

“You want her, you’ll have to go through me,” said Rose, fearless.

“Suits me fine,” he said, taking a step forward, but he stopped as the door of the van slammed. He turned to see who was interrupting, his eyes widening as Pete came into view.

“I suggest you step away from my daughter,” said Pete, calmly.

He looked from the former leader to Rose and back. “Your daughter?” He laughed. “Well, that’s a surprise. Is that why you’re here, old man?”

“No. I was invited.”

“On whose authority?” Harry demanded.

“Mine.” The Doctor exited the van and came to stand next to Rose, placing his body just a little in front of hers.

“Finally stopped licking your wounds, whelp?” said Harry, nastily. “I was wondering how long you’d stay hidden with your tail between your legs.”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “I’m here to challenge you, Harry,” he said, calmly.

“Couldn’t do it alone? Had to get your old dad to help you?”

“You know the rules,” said the Doctor.

The sliding door of the van opened and Jackie, River, Jack, and the rest of the pack filed out, forming a loose circle around Harry and the Doctor. Harry eyed the others before snapping his gaze back to his opponent.

“Fine.” He tilted his chin at Pete. “But he’s not a part of the pack anymore.”

“He’s a part of MY pack,” said the Doctor.

Harry laughed. “You obviously didn’t learn your lesson last time.”

“Guess I’m stupid that way,” the Doctor said, sarcastically.

“Very well, I accept,” said Harry, grinning. “This is going to be fun.”

The Doctor and Harry stepped forward until they were only a few meters from each other. The Doctor removed his long tan coat and tossed it to Rose, who deftly caught it. Underneath, he was wearing just a dark blue Henley over his brown pinstriped trousers. Likewise, Harry removed his suit jacket and tie, throwing them over the hood of his car.

“One winner,” said Pete, going over the rules for everyone’s benefit. “No ties. No help. Winner takes over as alpha. The loser’s fate is decided by the rest of the pack.” He fell silent and everyone watched as the two men circled each other.

Harry swung a wide, clumsy roundhouse which hit the Doctor in the neck with a dull, flat sound. He must have been feeling the hit from the tree branch, the move had none of his usual finesse. The Doctor shot a straight punch to Harry’s chest, making him fall back against his car.

“You’ve improved,” said Harry, his voice strained a bit from the punch, but he was still smiling.

“Or you just suck more,” the Doctor shot back.

Harry straightened and moved away from the vehicle, circling the Doctor again. “Why are you doing this, Theta? You know I’m going to beat you down.”

The Doctor kept his eyes on his opponent at all times. “I’m doing this because you’re an arse. Also, you’re sick and unfit to lead.”

Harry scoffed. “This sick, unfit arse saved your life, whelp. Maybe I should have waited until she killed you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lania,” said Harry, drawing the name out slowly. “She said she was going to kill you.” He smiled. “Right before I killed her.”

A ripple of shock spread through the members of the pack that surrounded them and everyone began talking at once, reacting to the news.

“YOU killed Lania?” said Jackie.

“You son of a bitch!” cried River.

“Lania might have been sick, but she was still our sister!” said Jack.

“What you did was wrong,” said Pete.

The Doctor stood stock still, completely shocked. “Why?” was all he could manage to say.

Harry shrugged, carelessly. “I guess once you ran off, she got bored with you.” He recklessly stepped closer to the Doctor, knowing he’d caught him off guard. “And it felt so good to sink my teeth into her flesh, taste her blood on my tongue, and feel her skin ripping apart under my claws.”

The Doctor stumbled a few steps away from him, his grace lost to his dismay. “Why would you do that?”

“She just wasn’t good enough.” Harry charged forward then, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The Doctor took a step back in surprise, but he was too slow to guard against the attack. Harry’s head made contact with the Doctor’s stomach, and the Doctor’s breath left him in a rush. The Doctor swung a roundhouse punch that caught Harry below his ear and Harry punched the Doctor, again in the gut. The punches were coming harder and faster, each man breathing heavier, blood and sweat flying through the air.

The Doctor made a grab for Harry, but the man dodged and kicked the Doctor, sending him sprawling to the ground on his stomach, coughing. Rose darted forward, instinctively going to help him, but Jackie grabbed her arm.

“Rose, no!” she said. “You can’t help him!”

“Fuck that!” was Rose’s answer to their archaic rules as she shook her mother off and ran to her mate.

“No, Rose!” shouted Pete, but it was too late.

Harry grabbed Rose as she ran past him, holding her with an arm around her neck, nearly squeezing off her air supply. She struggled and kicked at him, but he didn’t move, just laughed in her ear as he addressed the man on the ground.

“You know, Theta,” he said, lightly, as though they were having a normal conversation. “I always thought you had awful taste in women. I guess I was wrong this time, you managed to pick out the pack’s crown princess!” He wrapped his other arm around Rose’s middle, drawing her body close to his. “I think, once I’ve beaten your arse, I’ll take her for myself.”

“Like hell you will!” growled Rose.

Harry laughed again. “Oh, go on, call to him. Make him want to _save_ you, princess. Give him a reason to fight. Go ahead, call to Theta.”

The Doctor, meanwhile, had climbed to his feet. Glaring at the man holding _his_ mate, he lowered his stance, balling his hands into fists. “My name,” he said in a low voice, “is _the Doctor!”_

He laid a massive surgical haymaker to Harry’s face, his hand whizzing past Rose’s ear to slam into the man’s nose. Harry was forced to let go of Rose, who ran to the other side of the circle, out of their way. Tears filled Harry’s eyes, blurring his vision, and the Doctor picked him up by the waist and threw him to the ground like he weighed nothing at all. At once, he landed on top of Harry, grappling, trying for a choke hold.

Harry flipped his opponent, getting on top, landing a few punches to the Doctor’s stomach, until the Doctor brought his knee up into Harry’s groin at the same moment he brought a right uppercut that smashed Harry’s jaw. Tiny spatters of blood sprayed across the hard packed earth.

It didn’t take long for Harry to recover, too short a time for the Doctor to get out from under him. Harry threw a headlock on the Doctor, but he managed to snake his arm into a counter headlock, pulling the other man forward, Harry’s body flew through the air to land on his back. Before he could get up, the Doctor was on top of him again, locking Harry’s arms under his knees. Harry struggled, but the Doctor held him firm, punching him in the jaw again. Harry’s head snapped to the left. He threw another punch to Harry’s already broken nose, and more blood flew. Grabbing the man by his platinum hair, now streaked with red from the fight, the Doctor smashed Harry’s head into the ground over and over.

Pete’s hand came down on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Stop, Doctor. Stop.”

He looked up at the older man, then down at Harry. He hadn’t noticed when his opponent had stopped fighting back and passed out. The Doctor stilled, his chest heaving, his hands, arms, face, and chest covered in blood.

“It’s over,” said Pete. “We decide what happens to him now.”

“Right,” said the Doctor, his voice shaking just slightly. He got to his feet, stumbled, but didn’t fall. He looked to his mate. “Come on, Rose.”

She took a step toward him, but once again, Jackie stopped her.

“She stays with us,” said Pete. “She’s a part of the pack now.” He went to Harry’s car and fished in the pocket of his jacket, finding the keys to the sleek black vehicle. He tossed them to the Doctor. “Here. He’s not going to need it.”

Rose went to him and wrapped her arms around him. He gratefully sank into her embrace, the warmth from her body chasing away the chill that had sunk itself into his bones.

“Go to my flat,” she said. “Wait for me there.”

He nodded, then turned and climbed into the car as Rose joined the other members of the pack. In the rear view mirror, he saw them circling around the prone body on the ground, but as he descended the hill onto the main road, he saw no more.

* * *

It was very early that morning when Rose came to the flat. The Doctor hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d been pacing for hours, keeping the telly on for background noise as he waited for her. He snapped the program off now, going to the door to meet her.

“Hello, beautiful-- Whoa.” He stopped in mid-stride. She was covered in more blood than he had been when he’d left. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Rose glanced down at herself, but her expression remained neutral. “Yeah. Things got a bit messy.”

Her deadly calm unnerved him, he’d never seen Rose like this. “You want to... take a shower or something?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” But she made no move to head into the bedroom. “I get it, Doctor. Why we’re here. I finally get it.”

“What did you do?”

“He was sick,” she said, almost sadly. “So very sick. We had to help him. Sometimes we’re the treatment, sometimes we’re the cure... Sometimes we’re the knife that cuts the cancer out.” Her dark eyes went hard. “They have to pay.”

“Who?”

“They do.” Her expression softened then, and she laughed lightly, leaning down to pull off her shoes. “Oh, it’s been a mad night. You want to get take away? I’m starving.”

He moved closer to her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “Rose... Are you feeling all right?”

She shook her head, smiling. “I’m fine. I feel clear, I feel sane for once.” She placed her hands on his shirt, leaving streaks of blood, but neither of them noticed. “Tell you what, let’s clean up and we’ll go to one of those twenty-four hour places. We can go up to that hill you showed me and watch the sun rise over the city.” She caught her tongue in her teeth. “I’ll let you hold my hand.”

A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “We haven’t done something like that in so long.”

“And after that,” she said, “let’s start planning our wedding.”

“I almost forgot about that.”

She shoved him in the shoulder. “Like I’d let you.”

He looked at her closely. “You’re _sure_ you’re all right?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s all so clear.”

* * *

The next morning, Clara walked through the doors of Gallifrey Advertising for what she assumed would be the last time. It was five am; way too early for any of the Triumvirate to be present. While she would have given almost anything to see Reinette with the black eye she'd given her, she was too afraid the woman might still strangle her where she stood if she were to show her face.

She swept all of her things on the desk into a large box and opened the drawers to do the same. She paused when she saw that the red phone, next to the other three which she planned on leaving behind, was blinking rapidly. After punching in the unlock code, it revealed that she had twelve missed calls.

Her breath hitched in her throat as, with a sigh, she turned the phone off and threw it in the box.

* * *

Jake shook his head. "Someone has been neglecting his trims."

Matt knew that it wasn't just his hair that looked bad at the moment, and silently thanked the hairstylist for not saying anything about the dark circles under his eyes or two days worth of stubble on his face. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I've been... busy."

"You do realize that your head has my signature all over it? If you look bad, I look bad."

“I’m sorry,” said Matt, his expression crumpling.”I’m... SO sorry...”

“Wow. Okay, that was _supposed_ to make you laugh.” He sighed and gestured Matt over to a salon chair. "Sit your fine bum down and tell me what's wrong," he said as he draped Matt in a cloth.

"What makes you think something’s wrong?"

Jake didn't bother to answer; he just gave Matt a long look in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, something's wrong," Matt conceded. "I've tried everything to fix it. Nothing works." He sighed. "I think I've really screwed up."

"How so?" asked Jake, setting to work trimming Matt’s overgrown hair.

"There's this woman. She thinks I hate her."

"Do you?"

"No! But..." He winced. "Remember what I told you last time? About being tired of all the fake? I might have said some things to her about honesty and wanting something real..."

The shears paused in their snipping for a moment. "You told a made-up woman that you wanted something real? I see... You said something stupid."

"Basically," he agreed. "But I met her when she _was_ real, and then again when she wasn't. I didn't realize she was the same person until recently."

"Is that so?"

"Well..." Matt considered for a moment. "I think deep down, I might have known it was her. But she won't admit that she's the same person, and she's avoiding me. Probably because as long as she doesn't see me, I can't tell her I hate her."

"Have you told her that you don't?"

"I've tried. She won't pick up her phone. Her mobile goes directly to voice mail. She quit her job. I've tried texting her, emailing, leaving messages, faxing..."

“What about going to her house?"

"Wouldn’t that make me a stalker?"

“Well, you’re two-thirds of the way there already.”

Matt let loose a deep sigh. "I'm at a loss. I've been sitting in my hotel room for a week with a shoe in my hand like an idiot."

"A shoe?"

"Yeah, she, uh... left behind a shoe the last time I saw her. Like bloody Cinderella. I always hated that story... Prince marries someone because she can wear a shoe." He snorted derisively. “You know what size shoe this is? Size seven. There are _thousands_ of women in London with size seven feet!”

"You've got me there." He spun the chair around to cut the front of Matt's hair.

Matt's eyes went wide and then narrowed in confusion as he looked up to see two large framed pictures of him and Clara as Miss C from the tabloids on the opposite wall. "Uh... Why do you have those framed?" he asked.

"Oh, I always frame my best work," replied Jake, with a wink. “And it’s so rare that I got two in each shot.”

Matt stared at him for a moment. "I've been set up, haven't I?"

"Define 'set up.'" The shears went to work again. "You want some advice, sugar?"

"I'll take anything at this point."

"If she won't admit it to you, why don't you just prove it?"

"How?"

"You have one of my shoes. They're what you call 'factory seconds.' They leave a very distinct crescent shaped bruise on the outside of the right foot. Just go over there and match the foot to the shoe."

Matt thought it over, then nodded, a slow smile creeping across his face for the first time in days. "That could work..."

"I've also got some advice for your other problem."

"What other problem?"


	18. Chapter 18

“Has there been any improvement?”

“Don’t you think I would have called if Amy had improved?” said Rose on the other side of the line.

Clara was taking a break from packing up her flat, for the second time in less than a year, to call Rose and to go through the classifieds. There were plenty of ads for secretaries, just none that paid as well as her last job. The odds of finding someone as bitchy as Reinette were pretty slim.

She cradled her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she turned the newspaper’s pages. “Yeah, I just.. you know...” She briefly looked up at the ceiling and blinked her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. “I was thinking about her and I got worried again, I mean, she hasn’t woken up yet, and...”

“And you got weepy and needed to talk to someone,” finished Rose.

“Uh-huh.” She sniffled. She circled a few likely prospects to call later and turned to the rental section. “Plus, if Amy woke up, she could hire me. Then I could keep my flat.”

“Your flat is crap.”

“Crap that I can no longer afford.”

Rose sighed. “Just move your stuff to my old flat. You can stay there until the lease is up in thirty days.”

“What about after that?”

“You could come up to Bothal. Move in with me and the Doctor.”

At the prospect of stooping to that level of pathetic, Clara burst into tears again, lowering her head to the table in misery.

“Oh, Clara, calm down,” Rose pleaded. “Eat some ice cream and I’ll come over in about half an hour.”

“The ice cream’s not helping,” said Clara, her voice a little muffled from her position, face-down on the table.

“Does that mean you’re going to stop eating it?”

“No...”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll be there soon.” Rose rang off and Clara lifted her head to replace the receiver in the cradle.

Giving up for the moment, Clara got to her feet, threw the paper on a box and headed for the refrigerator with a sigh. The days-long depression she hadn't been able to shake was coming back in force the more she looked at the ads, and that meant it was time for an ice cream break. Where once her endless store had been dwindling, her little fridge was once again packed to the gills and there were empty cartons strewn all over the flat, much the same way an alcoholic would bottles of booze. She grabbed some Phish Food and flopped on the couch.

Her legs landed on the remote control for the television, flipping it on. As her luck would have it, the Beeb was playing Matt's version of _Romeo and Juliet._ For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to turn it off. She sniffled as she watched Matt, as Romeo, try to get in Juliet’s pants, the prelude to another batch of tears.

Their relationship felt so unfinished. Probably because it was. Some ridiculous part of her almost wanted to answer his calls so he could yell at her and have done with it. But mostly, she just wanted to crawl away and forget everything awful that had happened, leaving the wonderful, untainted parts for her to fondly remember. Before she screwed it all up... _Just like every relationship,_ she thought, unhappily, settling in for another self-abuse session. _Okay, so, Adam screwed up the last time, but still..._

She yanked up a handful of tissues from the almost empty box on the nearby coffee table and blew her nose loudly.

"...ara!"

Her brow furrowed. _Did Romeo just call my name?_ It was the same voice. She took the remote and turned down the volume.

"Clara!" This was followed by knocking.

She covered her face with her hands. Matt was at the door. She had wondered how long it would take before he tried coming to the flat... Maybe if she stayed quiet he'd just leave...

"I know you're in there..." A momentary pause. "...Clara! I heard your telly and your car is in your driveway. So, unless you walked somewhere and left your television on, you've got to be home!"

_Crap... Just be quiet, he’s got to go away eventually._

"Come on..." Pause. "...Clara! I just want to see your right foot!"

She blinked. "What?"

"Ah-HA! You _are_ home!"

"Shit..." she muttered. "No, I'm not!"

"Is your right foot home?"

"My right foot doesn't want to see you!"

"If you don't open the door, I'm going to keep screaming your name and when I lose my voice, I'll go get an air horn to do the job for me. I'll do it, I mean it!"

She sighed. If he did that, and she wouldn't put it past him, the neighbors would complain. And even though she was leaving the flat complex, she really didn't want to be responsible for Matt being led away by the police.

She got up from the couch and, with the chain still drawn, opened the door a few inches. Admittedly, aside from his hair, he looked terrible. He looked like he hadn't had any sleep in days. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one.

"Did you come here to humiliate me?" she asked.

"No. I came to see your right foot. Are you going to let me in?"

She really didn't understand the foot business, but she slid the chain and opened the door, standing back a bit so he could enter.

He stopped in the entryway, looking around at all the chaos as she shut the door after him. "This is a bit different than I remember it. Where are you going?"

"Not sure," she mumbled. "Probably to a storage unit and then to Rose's until I can find another job. Can I offer you something?" She went to the fridge and looked in. "I've got Moose Tracks and some caramel stuff, but that might be a little runny..."

"Clara..."

She sighed, closing her eyes. She never thought her name could sound so good and yet so heart-wrenching at the same time. "What?"

"Could you just... come over here for a second?"

_Let's get this done with, _she thought. There was apparently no hope of prolonging what would probably be the last time they met. She closed the door of the fridge and went to the couch. She sat down, turning the television off with the remote as she did so. He knelt in front of her and removed her fuzzy red slipper, at which point he stopped and stared at the bandages.__

__"What happened to you?"_ _

__"I sprinted barefoot through the countryside."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"Long story. But it should be okay to take those off. The swelling's gone down."_ _

__Carefully, he unwound the gauze, and then took from a paper bag he'd brought with him the broken rhinestone shoe she'd left behind._ _

__"I believe this is yours."_ _

__"No, it's not." She didn't feel guilty about that one, since it wasn't a lie._ _

__"All right, it's Jerry’s, but you were wearing it."_ _

__"How do you know Jake?" she asked, surprised._ _

__"He does my hair. Don't change the subject!"_ _

__"I feel like I've been set up."_ _

__"Apparently, that depends on your definition." He slipped the shoe onto her foot and examined it. She noted how the bruise on her foot matched exactly where the shoe strap pressed against it too hard and sighed, realizing why he'd been so set on seeing her feet. Here was something she hadn't anticipated. She'd been sold out by her hairstylist._ _

__He looked up at her. "Are you still going to tell me you're not the same person as Miss C?"_ _

__Sadly, she shook her head. "Go ahead."_ _

__"Go ahead and what?"_ _

__"Yell at me. Be angry." She stared at her lap, unable to look at him. "Tell me how I led you on, lied to you, committed the sin of omission, whatever. I wanted to tell you so many times, but the opportunity always got away from me, and then, it had just been too long. Sure, I expected it all to end, but I kept hoping for a little bit longer, just a little bit more. It was stupid... After everything you said about wanting reality, when all the time I was this made-up doll, you have to hate me now."_ _

__"Are you finished?"_ _

__She nodded._ _

__"Good. Because it sounds like you've been doing a pretty good job of hating yourself." He sighed. "I don't hate you... Clara. I've been trying to get a hold of you all this time so I could tell you that."_ _

__She glanced up at him. "Really?"_ _

__"Yes. But how could I, when you wouldn't admit to me that you were Miss C, or, more importantly, speak to me."_ _

__"But I lied to you."_ _

__He shook his head. "Everything you said to me as Miss C was the truth. Every bit of her was you, even if the exterior was different. You said you wanted to tell me, and I believe you. I probably could have realized the truth about you myself, but I didn't. We've both made mistakes. But we shouldn’t call everything off because of that." He reached up and took her hands in his. "It doesn't matter what you look like on the outside, as long as who you are on the inside is the truth. And on the inside, you were always..." He glanced down, briefly. "...Clara. Right?"_ _

__Her heart was throbbing. Incredible as it was, it sounded like he still wanted to be with her. She nodded, swallowing thickly. "Yeah." Something was bugging her, though. "Matt?"_ _

__"Yes?"_ _

__"Say my name."_ _

__Again, he glanced down. "Clara."_ _

__"One more time?"_ _

__Glance. "Clara."_ _

__She grabbed his arm and examined it. "Did you... Did you _tattoo_ my name on your arm?" she asked in disbelief. She blinked, but the evidence remained. “Oh, my God, you did!” The light brown marks could be covered with make-up or a large wristwatch, and if it wasn't looked at too closely, it could even be mistaken for an obscure freckle pattern, but sure enough, written near his left wrist was the name ‘Clara.’ "A tattoo on an actor's arm is prime real estate!" she exclaimed, still staring at it. "What were you _thinking?"__ _

__"This way I'll never forget your name," he said. "It was Jared’s idea, he wrote it down for me and suggested the brown color, but if you want, I'll have it done in bright pink, blue, or red; something that can't be covered so easily by make-up. Just say you'll be with me again. I don't want just Miss C or just..." Glance. "...Clara. I want all of you, every part of you. I--"_ _

__"Hold it," she said, anticipating what he could have been about to say. She bit her lip slightly, considering. "You might be ready to say that, but... I don't think I'm ready to hear it, yet. I like you a lot, Matt. And apparently, you like me enough to _brand_ yourself," she added with a wry smile. "But this past week was Hell. If we're going to be together, I want a sure thing."_ _

__He smiled. "Longer than a Hollywood forever."_ _

__"Much longer," she agreed. "Longer than Brad and Jen."_ _

__"And Tom and Nicole."_ _

__"And Johnny and Winona."_ _

__"I don't think Joey and Winona are all that comparable to us..."_ _

__She blinked. "You know Johnny Depp?"_ _

__He nodded, his forehead wrinkling slightly. "A very odd man."_ _

__"That says a lot, coming from you."_ _

__"Thanks," he said, dryly. He hesitated a moment. "Well... If you're not ready to hear _those_ words... Would you be ready to hear 'Move in with me?'"_ _

__Her eyes widened slightly. "Seriously?"_ _

__He gestured at the rest of the flat with a nod of his head. "It looks like you're nearly packed."_ _

__She pursed her lips, thinking it over. "I want to split the rent."_ _

__"I own."_ _

__"Oh... Well, I'll take the smallest bedroom you have."_ _

__"I've only got one. We'll have to share. Damn the luck!" But he was grinning like a goof as he said it._ _

__She sighed lightly. "Don't get me wrong, I _would_ like to move in with you. But I don’t want you to think it’s just because I have no where else to go. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”_ _

__He stared at her. "You've really had some awful relationships, haven't you?" The resolve in his expression renewed itself as he tightened his grip on her hands. "Give me an audition.”_ _

__“What?” she said, laughing._ _

__“Let me have three months,” he said, quite determined. “If it doesn't work out, then we can part ways, and I'll pay for you to move back, or anywhere else you want--"_ _

__She couldn't help but smile at his business-like tactics. "Matt..."_ _

__"I'll prove it to you. I can be the man you deserve."_ _

__"Matt."_ _

__"I'll show you what it's like to be in a real relationship. Well, as real as it _can_ be, while dating an actor--"_ _

__"Matt!"_ _

__She finally succeeded in gaining his attention. "What?"_ _

__She put a finger to her lips. "Too much small talk." She knew her expression probably revealed how vulnerable she was feeling, but at the moment, she didn't care. Her eyes were growing bright with tears as she looked up at him. "Can I just... cuddle with my boyfriend on the couch right now?"_ _

__He smiled, rising slightly to sit down next to her, and then gathered her into his arms. "Why are you crying?" he asked._ _

__"It's nothing," she said, shaking her head against his chest. "I'm just... I didn't think I could be so happy."_ _

__He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, the shadow on his jaw catching strands of her hair. "Me too."_ _

__As her leg dangled off the edge of the couch, the broken shoe fell from her foot. She didn't move to pick it up; she wasn't going to move for a very long time._ _

__* * *_ _

__The room was white, bright stark white, the kind of lack of color that made things look a bit blurry at the edges, so it was hard to tell where walls ended and began. There were great circles cut into the walls, but again, the color made it difficult to tell whether these were just decoration, or if they led somewhere else._ _

__A woman with pale skin and black eyes sat in a shapeless white chair, her dark hair piled haphazardly up on her head. She wore a light blue and grey gown that looked as if it had come from a Victorian era party, not only in style but in age. She didn’t seem concerned as she sat, looking across the way from her at a similarly shapeless long sofa that was currently empty._ _

__Into the emptiness, a high-pitched robotic voice called out, “Incoming. Client number 007700900461. Female, Pond, Amelia. Status: stationary.”_ _

__The dark haired woman lifted her head and smiled. “Accepted.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited. “This should be interesting.”_ _

__The light in the room briefly brightened until almost nothing could be seen, then, with a crash, Amy materialized in the air and landed, unharmed, on the shapeless couch. She sat up at once, looking around with wide green eyes. “Huh? Where--?”_ _

__The woman smiled. “Hello, Amelia.”_ _

__Amy swiveled her head around to look at the lady from the reject Victorian tea party. “Uh... hi?”_ _

__“Amy,” the woman corrected herself. “That’s what you liked to be called. Can I call you Amy?”_ _

__“Sure?” Amy was quite confused, she looked around at the strange white room, the lack of ambient sounds, the odd scent of roses in the air. She flicked her gaze back to the woman across from her. “Do I know you? Where am I?”_ _

__The woman nodded. “You know me. Though this is the first time we’ve met, face to face. Where you are is inconsequential.”_ _

__Amy lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. “It is?”_ _

__“This is your time, Amy,” she said. “I’m here... for you.”_ _

__“To do what?”_ _

__“To listen.” The woman shrugged, the movement graceful. “You can talk about whatever you want, ask any questions you like.”_ _

__Amy laughed. “So, you’re, what? My therapist?”_ _

__The lady smiled, seeming pleased. “Sure. I can be your therapist.”_ _

__“How much time do I have?” asked Amy, half in sarcasm._ _

__“As much time as you need.”_ _

__Amy leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. The sofa she was seated on was surprisingly comfortable. “So, why am I here, really?”_ _

__“Oh, that’s a topic I get a lot,” said the therapist. “I already told you. You’re here to talk about whatever you like. Some people start like _David Copperfield_ \- I am born, I grew up, I became a vampire--”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__The therapist giggled, the sound surprisingly girlish. “I love that one.” She placed one hand to her chest. “And _I_ , I am here to listen.”_ _

__“Well,” Amy began, somewhat tentatively, “I was born on--”_ _

__“Oh, that I know,” said the therapist. Seemingly out of nowhere, she reached down and retrieved a packet of papers. She opened to the first page. “It was a rainy May evening, around... seven-forty-two in the evening... Oh! And forty-six seconds.” She smiled. “Looks like a noisy one. Your mother refused pain relief.”_ _

__“If you know this, then why am I telling it to you?” asked Amy._ _

__“I’m here to listen to what you WANT to tell me,” said the therapist. “You didn’t really want to tell me about your birth.” She tilted her head and set the papers aside. “Here, why don’t I show you a little about how this works...”_ _

__She pressed a button on the arm of her chair and on one blank wall, a projected image appeared of a young man with large hair on a stage. As they watched, a shoe flew through the air and hit him directly in the groin. As he groaned and went down for the count, both Amy and the therapist laughed uproariously._ _

__“Oh, that never gets old,” said the therapist, as the footage ended and the projection faded._ _

__“So, that’s how it works?” asked Amy. “We watch YouTube?”_ _

__“Well, not exactly,” said the therapist. “I just showed you that one as an example. You looked like you needed a laugh.”_ _

__“Thanks.”_ _

__“No, what happens is, you start talking, the film starts rolling.”_ _

__“Why?” asked Amy._ _

__She lifted one shoulder. “Some people prefer a visual aid.” She tilted her head slightly, looking off into the middle distance. “Kind of like porn.”_ _

__Amy nodded seriously. “I get it.”_ _

__“Of course you do,” said the therapist. “You like to say things that shock people and make them laugh. So do I. Every so often, I get someone who appreciates it, like you.”_ _

__“I don’t meet people who understand my kind of humor very often.”_ _

__The therapist smiled, wiggling her fingers in a slight wave. “Hello.”_ _

__“I’m Amy, and you are?”_ _

__“Here, to listen to what you want to tell me.”_ _

__Amy clicked her fingers. “Damn!”_ _

__“Good try, though!” said the therapist. “Shall we begin?”_ _

__“Still not sure _how_ to begin...”_ _

__“Very well. I’ll make a suggestion. Who do you like to shock into laughter the most?”_ _

__“Clara,” said Amy, at once. “Hands down.”_ _

__“Oh, yes,” said the therapist, nodding. “Clara Oswald. You’ve known each other for a long time.”_ _

__“Since we were at school together.”_ _

__Above them on the wall, a projection was blinking to life. “Was a rough time for you, wasn’t it?”_ _

__“I guess,” said Amy._ _

__“You GUESS?” A projected image of a teenage Clara came into focus on the wall, drawing both women’s focus. She was wearing an oversized red flannel shirt, tied in a knot at her waist, over torn acid washed jeans and her dark hair was in a side ponytail. “You don’t guess about things like that! It takes thought and consideration!”_ _

__“No, mostly money,” said a teenage Amy, her ginger hair more of an orange at this stage in her life, in a long plait down her back. She was sitting next to the projected image of Clara and wearing a denim skirt and a denim jacket with graffiti on it. The two girls appeared to be in a tattoo parlor._ _

__Clara leaned in close to her friend. “You seriously want a kitten on your _arse_ for the rest of your life?” She whispered the word ‘arse,’ as though she might get in trouble for it._ _

__“Why not?” asked the young Amy. “Kittens are cute! My bum is cute. Why should they not go together?”_ _

__“I think Matthew Grayson Ellef is cute,” said Clara. “I’m not having HIM tattooed on my... _arse!”__ _

__“Stop whispering it, God still hears you when you whisper!”_ _

__Clara buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe we cut class for this...”_ _

__“Believe it. _I_ can’t believe _you_ chickened out of getting one.” She looked over at her friend. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can.”_ _

__“Shut it!”_ _

__“YOU shut it. You love me. Aren’t you glad your dad had to move here for work so we could be friends?” asked Amy with a grin._ _

__“Oh, yes. What will I ever do when we have to move back to England,” said Clara, deadpan._ _

__A tall, skinny woman with dyed black hair and multiple piercings walked out of a back room and approached the two girls. “You ready?” she asked Amy in a thick brogue._ _

__“Yes, I am!” Amy said with a grin. “Let’s do this!”_ _

__“You’re eighteen, right?”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__“I’ll get the table set up for you.” The tattoo artist turned and went back into the other room._ _

__“What are your parents going to say?” whispered Clara._ _

__“I don’t care,” said Amy. “How often do my parents look at my bum anyway? That would be creepy, Clara. Really creepy. Like, does your mum walk in, in the middle of the night, and check YOUR bum for tattoos?”_ _

__“AMY! Look, I don’t live in cult-land like you do, I don’t KNOW what your parents do!”_ _

__Amy nudged Clara’s shoulder with her own, rolling her eyes. “You know my mum’s not in cult-land anymore, and soon as I turn eighteen, I’m out, too.”_ _

__“Oh, my God, really?” asked Clara with wide eyes. “What’s your dad going to say?”_ _

__Here, the projection froze. The therapist looked over at Amy, whose gaze had slid down to the sofa she was sitting on. Her finger traced a random design on the spongy white material._ _

__“Why did you stop?” asked the therapist._ _

__“I don’t like this part of the film,” Amy muttered. “This is usually where I’d get some candy from the concessionist.”_ _

__The projection started up again._ _

__“I don’t care,” said the young Amy. “Fuck him. I’m bloody sick of the meetings and the Bible study and the matching dresses and never cutting my hair, never doing this, never doing that. I need to _express_ myself in _some_ way. I choose kitten tattoo.”_ _

__The film paused once more. “I said I don’t like this part,” said the real Amy._ _

__The therapist shrugged. “I’m not controlling what we’re viewing. Maybe you know you need to see it.”_ _

__The film resumed, but the scene had switched to a school hallway with young Clara and Amy walking amid a thick crowd of teenagers. Amy checked her Swatch and grinned at her friend. “See, we only missed one class, back in plenty of time.”_ _

__They entered a classroom and sat down at desks next to each other. Amy grimaced and hissed in a breath as her backside touched the hard plastic of the chair. Clara rolled her eyes._ _

__“A needle plunged into your bum several thousand times,” she said. “You didn’t think sitting would hurt?”_ _

__Amy made a face at her friend, carefully sitting on her other cheek. “Oh, you’re so smart.”_ _

__The teacher called to Amy then. “The office called for you just now. You need to go down to the principal.”_ _

__“Just me?” asked Amy. “What about Clara? She ditched, too.”_ _

__“AMY!”_ _

__The teacher shook her head, solemnly. “No, Amy, you...” The woman swallowed, her expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Just go.”_ _

__The film followed the young Amy out of the classroom and down the hall. Amy on the couch took a deep breath. “That scared me,” she said. “When a teacher can’t tell you what’s going on, you know the shit’s hit the fan somehow.”_ _

__The film picked up with Amy inside the principal’s office. The older man looked down at young Amy, sadly. “The paramedic said he didn’t feel a thing. The accident happened so fast.”_ _

__“How do they know?” asked Amy, her eyes wide, clearly in shock._ _

__He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We just have to trust on these things. You can’t dwell on it.” He paused, straightening up and going back to his desk. “Your mother’s coming to pick you up. Amelia... I’m very sorry.”_ _

__“Uh huh.” Amy stood up and numbly walked out of the office, stopping in surprise when she saw Clara sitting outside. “What are you doing here?” she asked._ _

__“Well, _somebody_ tipped them off that I cut class,” she said, irritated. She looked up at Amy then, seeing her expression and realizing that something had happened. “Amy? What is it?”_ _

__“My dad.”_ _

__The film did one of those cinematic transitions and Amy was impressed, wondering what kind of budget ‘hallucination dreams’ get. The film resumed inside a small chapel, a long wooden casket at the end of the aisle. A preacher stood at the pulpit, droning on about how Amy’s father was in a place with no pain or death and how they shouldn’t doubt God’s judgement in taking him._ _

__Teenage Amy sat in the front pew with her mother. The older ginger woman was trying, and failing, to hold herself together, crying into a linen handkerchief, while Amy was dry-eyed, staring straight ahead._ _

__“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” muttered her mother, Tabetha._ _

__“It’s almost over, mum,” said Amy._ _

__“The Lord sends us a message by calling back his faithful children to stand by his side,” the preacher went on. “As an example to those who have slipped from their path. He calls for them to return to the faith they once had...”_ _

__“Not this,” whispered Tabetha._ _

__Amy’s eyes narrowed. “He’s blaming us?”_ _

__Tabetha squeezed her daughter’s hand. “No, dear. He’s not blaming... you. Not you.” A sob escaped her. “He’d never blame a child.”_ _

__Amy’s jaw tightened in anger. “They shouldn’t blame _anyone!”_ She stood up._ _

__Her mother clutched at her arm. “Amelia, sit down!”_ _

__“No, mum!” She turned to the preacher, her hands balled into fists. “Oi, you! Mr. High and Mighty Arse!”_ _

__A wave of shock swept through the crowd as the preacher was stunned out of continuing his speech._ _

__“You obviously didn’t know the first thing about my father!” Amy said._ _

__The man at the pulpit frowned at her. “Sit down, my child!”_ _

__“I am NOT your child,” Amy said. “And my father was a good man, a strong man, so there would be no ‘gentle cradling,’ no ‘soft whispers of his loved ones in God’s ear.’ My father is probably furious that he’s been taken away from what meant the most to him! And I’m talking about US! Me and my mother! How DARE you blame her for my father’s accident!”_ _

__“Your mother’s lack of faith forced God’s hand,” said the preacher._ _

__Eyes blazing with green fire, Amy closed the distance between herself and the preacher in a few strides and slapped him as hard as she could. An outcry went up through the church as the man stared at her, shocked._ _

__“There,” said Amy. “You just forced mine.”_ _

__“God will punish you for your insolence!” said the preacher._ _

__“God?” Amy repeated. _“God_ will punish me? You are under the impression that God is paying _attention!_ Do you really think that God sits around, taking good husbands from their wives and their children, to leave them alone in a place like _this_ with people like _you?_ I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound like _God_ to me. That sounds like a sick joke.”_ _

__Tabetha crept up next to Amy, grasping her sleeve. “Amy, please stop.”_ _

__“I think you’d better listen to your mother,” said the preacher, sternly._ _

__But young Amy didn’t listen. “You think God did this? God doesn’t give a damn about this. God. Doesn’t. Care.”_ _

__The film stopped abruptly._ _

__“Ouch,” said the therapist with a bit of a wince._ _

__“I was _really_ angry,” said Amy in a low voice._ _

__“So, you hated the life you were being forced to live?”_ _

__Amy nodded. “Yeah, but I still loved my parents. You can disagree with them and love them anyway.”_ _

__The film resumed and Amy was back in the tattoo parlor. The same woman as before greeted her at the counter. “It’s only been a week. Is the kitten not healing up the way it’s supposed to?”_ _

__Young Amy shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” She handed the woman a small piece of paper with a date written on it. “I wanted to get a second one.”_ _

__The tattoo artist’s expression instantly turned sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. Who died?”_ _

__“My dad,” said Amy. “I want this one on my wrist.”_ _

__“Anything you like.”_ _

__The projection blinked out. Amy turned away from the therapist, her eyes bright. She rubbed at them and muttered, “I... need a minute.”_ _

__A tone sounded and the high, robotic voice called out, “Incoming client.”_ _

__“Perfect timing,” said the therapist. “Take as long as you need,” she said to Amy as she stood up. “I’ll be right back.”_ _

__The therapist left Amy alone in the room, a wall sliding open and then shut for her as she entered an empty room, identical to the one she’d just left. Another wall opened, and a blonde woman entered in a long, white gown. The two women smiled at each other._ _

__“Incoming,” said the robotic voice. “Client number 6879760. Male, Saxon, Harold. Status: expired.”_ _

__“Accepted,” said the therapist. She looked at the blonde. “Are you ready, Lucy?”_ _

__She nodded then looked expectantly toward the center of the room. With a flash of bright light and a crash, the huddled figure of a man appeared in his shirtsleeves and trousers on the floor. Instantly, he was up, turning frantically this way and that, trying to get his bearings. He was breathing hard and fast, almost in a panic. After a moment, his eyes settled on the dark haired woman._ _

__“Where the hell am I?” he asked, his voice containing an edge of threat._ _

__The therapist laughed lightly. “Isn’t that ironic. Doesn’t work that way, though.”_ _

__“Who are you?” he asked._ _

__“Not important,” she said with a wave of her hand. “What _is_ important, is that there’s someone else here to see you.” She gestured to her right and Lucy stepped forward._ _

__“Hello, Harry,” she said, smiling._ _

__His mouth fell open. “Lucy?” He began to reach for her, then pulled back. “This is a trick.”_ _

__Lucy shook her head. “No tricks. It’s me. See?”_ _

__She closed the distance between them and held out her hand, waiting with infinite patience. Slowly, he reached out and slid his palm across hers, warm and real, until their fingers entwined. His breath slammed out of him and his eyes snapped back up to her face, as though he believed she might disappear, even as he held onto her._ _

__“I’m really here,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve been waiting for you.”_ _

__“Lucy...” He dragged her into his arms, holding her tightly, so tightly, as if he’d never let go._ _

__The therapist smiled at the two of them. “I’ll leave you alone.” She turned and the wall opened for her, leading her back into Amy’s room. “How are you now, Amy?”_ _

__Amy nodded, perfectly composed once again. “Better. Thanks.” She gestured vaguely at the closed wall through which the therapist had come. “Don’t you need to be with the new client or something?”_ _

__The therapist sat down in her chair. “Oh, no. He’s inactive.”_ _

__Amy shook her head, not understanding. “What does that mean?”_ _

__“Inactive,” the therapist reiterated. “Expired, terminated--”_ _

__“DEAD?” exclaimed Amy, jumping to her feet._ _

__“There you are,” said the therapist. “Succinctly put. I don’t have to spend much time with the deceased, once they have someone to show them around. You’re different, of course--”_ _

__“Go back to the deceased part!”_ _

__“What about it?”_ _

__“Am _I_...” Amy made air quotations. “‘Inactive?’”_ _

__“Oh, no! No, no, no,” said the therapist, reaching for her paperwork. “You’re active. Just stationary.” She turned the front page to Amy and pointed at a particular line. “See? Right there. Stationary.”_ _

__“In English, please?”_ _

__The therapist sighed. “You’re in a coma.”_ _

__Amy’s mouth fell open. “A coma?!”_ _

__The therapist double checked her paperwork. “Mm... Yes.”_ _

__Amy paced the length of the room. “How did I get to be in a coma?! I wasn’t in a coma before I got... here.” She slowly turned back around, narrowing her eyes at the other woman who was still sitting calmly. “Am I in heaven?” she asked, skeptically._ _

__The therapist only laughed, which made Amy all the more irritated._ _

__“WHY are you laughing?” she demanded._ _

__“It doesn’t exactly work that way,” said the therapist, calming herself. “Good people don’t automatically go to ‘heaven,’ bad people don’t automatically go to ‘hell’... Good and bad are such... gray areas.”_ _

__“Well, where am I?” asked Amy._ _

__“In a hospital.”_ _

__“This is a hospital?” Amy gestured widely at the big white room._ _

__“Oh! No...” The therapist laughed again. “No, this isn’t a hospital. Where you actually ARE, is in a hospital. Would you like to see?”_ _

__“See?”_ _

__“Like this.” She pressed the button on her chair and the projection on the wall started up again. Amy came back to the sofa and sat down as she watched Clara enter a hospital room on the ‘film,’ though Amy guessed that it was happening in real time now. Rory was there, looking disheveled and tired. He stood up from a chair and hugged Clara. Behind them, Amy could see her own body, lying motionless on a hospital bed. Her long ginger hair had been cut very close to her head, something all hospitals do for coma patients._ _

__“Any changes?” Clara asked Rory._ _

__He shook his head. “Same. The doctors won’t say anything, one way or the other.”_ _

__“They’re not even optimistic about her condition?”_ _

__“They say it’s too soon to tell. Basic doctor bullshit answers for when they don’t know.” He furrowed his brow slightly. “I thought you were going to bring Matt with you. Is he parking the car?”_ _

__“Oh... no.” Clara’s worry for Matt showed on her face. “We had a sudden change of plans. He’s headed up to Northampton.”_ _

__“Why?”_ _

__“His parents’ house burned down.”_ _

__“What?” exclaimed Rory in shock. “Are they all right?”_ _

__“They’re fine,” Clara assured him, looking surprised by his outburst. “They were out when it happened. But they were expected home, so the police are suspicious.”_ _

__“Oh, my God...” Rory’s face drained of all color._ _

__“Rory, are you all right?” asked Clara, confused by his behavior._ _

__“I’ve got to make a phone call,” he said in a rush, leaving the room before Clara could ask him what was going on._ _

__* * *_ _

__Down at the end of the hall, Rory glanced around to make sure he was relatively alone before he withdrew his mobile from his pocket and dialed. The line picked up after two rings._ _

__“Hello?”_ _

__“Hi, mum.”_ _

__“Rory! We haven’t heard from you in so long!”_ _

__“Mum--”_ _

__“It’s so good to hear your voice! Vastra and I are fine, your sisters are doing well, there was a promotion up at work--”_ _

__“Mum--”_ _

__“Of course, Vastra’s always the front runner for--”_ _

__“JENNY!”_ _

__Rory’s mum paused for breath. “What?”_ _

__“Get Vastra on the line with you,” he said, very seriously._ _

__“Rory? What’s the matter?”_ _

__“It’s happening. What we were afraid of.”_ _

__“Oh, God.” He heard a slight rustle as Jenny muffled the phone. “Vastra! Pick up the extension!”_ _

__A moment of silence and then the click of the extension line being picked up. “Hello?” came the slightly more cultured voice of Rory’s other mother._ _

__“Hi, mum,” said Rory._ _

__“What have you got Jenny all upset about?” Vastra asked._ _

__“Jackson and Rosita’s house was burnt down. They weren’t there, they’re safe,” he said quickly, as both women reacted in shock. “For now.” He glanced around himself again to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “It’s him. It’s got to be.”_ _

__“He knows who you are,” Vastra surmised._ _

__“We’ve been preparing for this,” said Jenny. “It had to happen sometime.”_ _

__“Take the girls and scatter. Hide. None of us are safe right now,” said Rory._ _

__“What about you?” asked Jenny._ _

__“I’m going to Matt. Call Jackson and Rosita and make sure they know.”_ _

__“We will,” said Vastra._ _

__“We love you,” said Jenny._ _

__“Love you, too,” said Rory before ending the call. He slipped the mobile back in his pocket and headed back to Amy’s hospital room. Clara was on her feet the moment he closed the door behind him._ _

__“Okay, what happened?” she demanded._ _

__“I need to get to Matt,” said Rory, without preamble._ _

__“What? But he’s flying to Northampton!”_ _

__“Why is he flying there?”_ _

__Clara sighed. “He said it would shave thirty minutes off his travel time. He was _really_ worried.”_ _

__“He doesn’t know the half of it.” Rory shook his head. “If he’s flying there, I’m going, too.”_ _

__“Why?”_ _

__“I don’t have time to explain right now!” said Rory, his agitation increasing. “Has his flight left already or not?”_ _

__“Uh, well, no,” said Clara. “There’s only two flights to Northampton daily, Matt’s flight won’t leave for another two hours or so. If you leave now--”_ _

__“Great,” he said. “I’ll call you.” He rushed from the room, then rushed back a second later and went to Amy’s bedside. He leaned over her, careful not to disturb any of the instruments hooked up to her, and kissed her forehead. “Love you, Amy.”_ _

__He hurried out of the room once more._ _


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains CHARACTER DEATH. She has not been in the story up til now, but she was a VERY important character in canon, thus the warning for potential upset.

Matt leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and placed his head in his hands. The teenage girl sitting next to him in first class had NOT stopped talking since she’d realized who was sharing the row with her. Lightly, he rubbed his temples, praying that the plane would finish boarding soon and they could be off. Even an hour in this girl’s presence was too long.

“So, my friend Libby and I saw that new film that you’re in, ohmygod, we totally loooooved it,” she gushed. “And we _totally_ saw your bum. Was that your actual bum? Because some actors have bum doubles. But you knew that!” She giggled and Matt groaned softly. “Does it bother you that SO many people know what you look like naked? Because I would be TOTALLY embarrassed, like if a guy, just some completely RANDOM guy on the street, was like ‘ohmygod, I totally saw your boobs in that film you were in,’ I think I would die! So, what’s it like?”

“You know, I try not to think about it,” said Matt, helplessly.

She gasped. “Ohmygod, could you, like, CALL Libby and like, say hi or something? She will totally just DIE that I am sitting next to Matthew Grayson Ellef!” She tapped her feet excitedly, making a high pitched squealing noise. “Can I take a picture of you for my Instagram? You’re even wearing the bowtie you wore to that last film screening! That reporter was right, you are TOTALLY bringing back the bowtie.”

Matt self-consciously straightened the red bowtie at his throat. He remembered telling a reporter at a recent event that bowties were cool, and suddenly _everyone_ was wearing them. Especially hipsters. Apparently, an ironic bowtie was the new ironic mustache. He was only wearing it today because Clara had said she liked it and he’d intended to see her before his parents called. He’d had very specific plans for this bowtie, concerning his girlfriend getting him _out_ of it, but he couldn’t think about that now. His discomfort level rose when he saw the girl was fumbling to find the right app on her phone and hastened to discourage her from taking a picture.

“I think we’re supposed to keep our mobiles off.”

She pouted briefly, then leaned over the arm rest, grinning at him. “You know, I’m a total Clatt fan.”

He lifted an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. “Clatt? Sounds like a venereal disease.”

“No, no, that’s what they call you and your ‘roommate,’” she said, making little air quotes with her fingers. “Clara and Matt make Clatt, like Brangelina! It’s soooo cute! And everyone knows that you’re totally in love! OhmyGOD, you two are SO ADORABLE together! I could die! Like right now!”

“Promise?” he mumbled under his breath. Thankfully, a flight attendant picked up the intercom and announced they were starting their final boarding processes. He sighed, he couldn’t wait to be in the air.

Another flight attendant was about to close the large door when a passenger bounded down the ramp, shouting for them to hold the plane. He made it on, just under the wire. Matt’s eyes widened when he saw that the last minute passenger was one of Clara’s friends, the fellow who’d come to the Canary Club.

He stood there, out of breath, while his ticket was double checked, then the attendant welcomed him to first class. He made his way over to Matt’s row and stood directly in front of the manic fan girl, who was currently asking if Matt would autograph the ‘Sky Mall’ magazine for her.

“Hi.”

She looked up at him. “Uh, hi?”

“Could I have your seat, please?”

“Um, no! Do you KNOW who this is?” she asked, aiming her thumb at Matt. “I’m sitting next to Matthew Grayson Ellef!”

“Look, I really need to sit there, I would really appreciate it--”

Matt spoke up, hoping to help him out. “He’s actually a friend of mine--”

“Rory,” he prompted.

“Right. Rory.”

The girl crossed her arms over her chest. “This is MY seat. So, you can just look at the little numbers on your OWN ticket and sit there, okay?”

Annoyed, Rory took his wallet out of his back pocket and fished out a fifty pound note. “Here,” he said, rather tersely.

“Fifty pounds?” she scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’m not moving for _any_ amount--”

“Oh, here,” said Matt, grabbing the note with one hand and uncapping a pen with his mouth. He scribbled his signature across the face of the note and handed it to the girl. “Let me see your mobile.” She handed it to him and he quickly selected the last number dialed. “Hi, Lilly?”

“Libby,” said the girl next to him, gobsmacked.

“Libby. This is Matthew Grayson Ellef, and I’m sitting next to your friend-- What’s your name?”

“Ohmygod, ohmygod...”

“Your friend, Oh my God. Hi. Have a nice day.” He ended the call and handed the mobile back. “Okay. If you don’t bother us for the rest of the flight, I’ll give you another signed fifty. Deal?”

The girl giggled madly, completely charmed by what Matt had done. “Okay!”

She got up and skipped to the only other available seat in first class while Rory sat down with a sigh. The flight attendants looked relieved that they hadn’t needed to step in to intervene and began the safety spiel as the plane began to taxi.

“THANK you,” said Matt in utter relief.

“I was going to say the same thing,” said Rory.

“I think I would have gone barmy if she’d sat there for the whole trip, short distance or no.” Matt’s brow furrowed as he looked at Rory. “What are you going here? I thought you were meeting...” He glanced at his arm. “...Clara at the hospital.”

“Plans changed. I’m going to Northampton with you.”

“Why?”

Rory blew out a long breath. “Because I’m responsible for you,” he said, at last.

Matt shook his head in confusion. “Huh?”

Rory suddenly frowned in annoyance, his careful control from minutes earlier completely gone. “God, how is it possible that you forgot absolutely everything? I know you were young, but honestly!” He kept his voice low, to avoid drawing the attention of the other passengers, but Matt’s eyes still widened in surprise.

“Are you feeling all right, Richard? Do you have a fear of flying that makes you inexplicably mad or something?”

“No.” Rory took another breath, closing his eyes briefly. “Do you ever wonder where your family is?”

“They live in Northampton,” said Matt.

“You know what I mean,” said Rory, looking at him with serious blue eyes. “You were adopted. You could never trace where you’re from. But I’ve kept tabs on you.”

“Okay, you are being seriously creepy.” The plane was beginning to pick up speed along the runway now. Matt was even beginning to consider the seat switching a bad idea when Rory said--

“Matt, I’m your brother.”

He blinked. Rory’s face remained stoic. Even so, he had to be pulling Matt’s leg... right? “You’re joking.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me,” said Rory.

“Well, that’s good.”

“But I can prove it.” For a moment, Rory scrambled to think of all that he knew about Matt. “You, uh... You have a mole on your left hip.”

“Lots of people have those.”

“Not in the shape of Ireland.”

Matt shrugged. “I’ve been nude in 4 films, plenty of people have seen me naked.”

“You’re allergic to fresh mown grass, rabbits, and pine nuts.”

“All right,” said Matt, a little less sure of himself now. “You could have read about that in some interview.”

Rory glanced over at the other passengers, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. When he turned back, his eyes had darkened with an emotion that sent a shiver down Matt’s spine. “You had a burn mark on your right shoulder,” he said in a very quiet voice. “It looked like an infinity symbol in a circle.”

Matt’s mouth fell open. “I... I had that removed.”

“So did I.” Rory pulled his dark jacket down his arms and moved his red flannel shirt over enough to show his bare shoulder to Matt. The skin there was smooth, but pink, like an old scar. “You can still see what’s left from the laser surgery.” He moved his clothing back into place. “I also know why you can’t remember names.”

“You do?” Matt asked, amazed. _“I_ don’t even know!”

Rory sighed, running a hand across his face. “You were young. About three. But I was six. I remember all of it.”

* * *

_Rory clutched his mother’s hand tightly as she ran, Matt on her hip, hurrying them all into the master bedroom. The pounding and shouting at the front door was growing louder, echoing the frantic beating of his heart. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he could sense that it wasn’t anything good._

_Their mother shoved aside a row of hanging clothes in the walk-in closet and pressed her thumb against a tiny black panel. Rory’s eyes widened as the back wall of the closet slid open, revealing a plain gray room beyond. There were bottles of water lined up neatly against the wall, next to a cot with a pile of blankets and a small television._

_“In here, boys, hurry!” she said, leading Rory into the room and handing Matt to him. Instantly, Matt reached for his mother._

_“Mummy!”_

_She tenderly touched Matt’s head, but did not pick him back up. “Mattie, shh!”_

_“Is he going to hurt us, mummy?” asked little Rory._

_She leaned down to look into her son’s eyes. “No, Rory, sweetie, he’s not going to hurt you. But I need you to do mummy a big favor. Do you think you can do that?”_

_Rory nodded._

_“I need you and your brother to stay in here and be quiet. Very quiet. No sound at all.”_

_Matt grasped at his mother’s long ginger hair with his tiny fingers. “Mummy...”_

_She kissed Matt’s soft cheek, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, as she gently disentangled her hair from his hand. “Shh, no sound, Mattie. You listen to Rory, he’s in charge until Uncle Jackson and Auntie Rosita come to get you.” Matt pouted, but nodded his understanding of what his mother wanted. She looked back at Rory. “Your aunts, Jenny and Vastra, will be coming here for you, Rory. Do you understand?”_

_“We won’t be together?” asked Rory._

_She shook her head, sadly. “No, honey, it’s not safe, you have to trust me. Be quiet and don’t move. No matter what.”_

_“Mummy, we could tell the police about the bad men,” said Rory._

_“No!” she cried, her face going white. She grasped Rory’s shoulders. “Listen to me, very carefully! You have to forget about the men you’ve seen. Everyone you know, you have to forget. Forget their names, what they look like, everything!” Her blue eyes searched Rory’s desperately. “Promise me. Promise you’ll forget.”_

_“I promise, mummy,” said Matt in his little voice._

_Rory clutched his brother tighter. “Me, too.”_

_She drew them both into her arms, kissing their heads. “I love you, boys,” she said on a sob. “Someday, you’ll see each other again. Rory, you look out for Matt. You’re responsible.” Rory nodded against her shoulder. She pulled away, backing up towards the false wall, her eyes full of tears. “No matter what... Stay in here and don’t move. No sound. No matter what you hear, okay?” She lifted a shaking hand to the access panel. “I love you.”_

_The wall shut, leaving them in dim fluorescent light. Moments later, they heard the sound of a door being broken down, both of them jumping and clutching at each other, trying to stay quiet. Rory’s heart still felt like it was beating wildly in his throat and he swallowed compulsively to try and move the organ back down into his chest where it belonged._

_“Donna!” a man shouted._

_“Stay out!” cried their mother. The voices were muffled through the walls, but the boys could hear every word._

_“Like hell!”_

_The bedroom door was kicked open then and a man’s heavy footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor._

_“Testifying against me was not smart, Donna,” said the man. “How could you do such a thing to your own father?”_

_“I had to!”_

_“You shouldn’t have run from the family in the first place.”_

_“I didn’t want my boys involved in your business. They deserve to have their own lives, free from you!” She cried out then, and both boys jumped at the sound of a body hitting a nearby wall._

_“Where are they?” asked the man._

_“They’re not here,” she said. “You won’t find them. I sent them away, to good people. People you don’t know.”_

_“I’ll make them just as sorry as you’re going to be.”_

_The next part happened so fast... a scrabbling noise, a few rushed footsteps. The sound of a woman’s scream that was quickly cut off by the crack of a gunshot. The heavy thud of a body falling to the floor. Footsteps leaving the house._

_Silence._

_Matt buried his face against his big brother’s jumper, stifling his cries. Rory’s tears fell silently, dripping from his face into Matt’s hair._

* * *

Matt stared sightlessly at the seat in front of him, his mind whirling madly with all he’d just been told. He couldn’t speak, he felt cold. His hands lay numbly in his lap. He wasn’t sure what to feel... Anger, sadness, disbelief, they all warred within him for dominance.

Beside him, the man who claimed to be his brother shook his head and sighed. “I never thought you’d take that promise so literally.”

Matt was silent for a moment longer. “Who was she testifying against?” It was the first question to tumble out amid the hundreds.

“Her father. Razz Rassilon.”

“THE Rassilon?!” Matt exclaimed, his eyes bugging. Rory shushed him and he glanced around at the other passengers on the plane. A few people had looked over, but other than looking annoyed at the brief disruption, no one appeared interested in their hushed conversation. He took care to keep his voice low, leaning close to Rory to whisper, “The crime lord?”

Rory nodded. “Alleged, yeah. The brand was his symbol. I don’t remember getting it, but I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.”

Matt sat back, crossing his arms. “I don’t buy it,” he said, his emotions settling on disbelief.

Rory just shrugged. “Buy it or not. I made Reinette angry, she told Rassilon who we are and who helped us get away. He’s the one who burned down your adopted parents’ house. He’ll be coming after my family, too. He sees us as his legacy; a way for him to continue on with his work, even after death. That’s why our mother ran away and hid with us.”

Matt’s hands clenched on his knees, anger and sadness beginning to well up inside him again. “Why...” he whispered. “How could she do that? To leave us alone like that... I don’t understand!”

“She did what she thought she had to, to keep us safe. Rassilon is a powerful, cruel, murdering fuck. He wouldn’t let her go, and killed her when she tried.”

“What about our dad?”

If possible, Rory’s expression became even sadder. “He was killed first. To punish her.”

Matt stared into the middle distance for a moment, willing himself to have courage for what he was about to say. “What was she like?” he asked, softly.

Rory’s smile was pained and wistful. “She was a funny, loud, wonderful woman. She had the most beautiful ginger hair.” He gestured at his own face. “I got her eyes. You look more like our dad, though we both got his nose.” He sighed. “She’d have done anything for us.”

“I wish I could remember her,” said Matt, downcast. “What was her name?”

“Donna,” said Rory, reverently. “Our real last name was Noble.”

“Donna Noble,” Matt repeated. The name drifted, shimmery and ethereal, through his mind before it evaporated like mist. Pain squeezed his heart as he realized he’d never remember his own mother’s name, the woman who had given her life so he and his brother could be safe. He fumbled with his seatbelt, trying to unbuckle it quickly. “I... I need to be alone,” he said in a rush. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He stepped over Rory in a jumble of limbs and rushed for the first class lavatory, slamming the door shut behind him. Rory leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes against tears. It definitely hadn’t been the reunion he’d hoped for.

* * *

When the plane landed in Birmingham, Rory had to help Matt disembark, as his brother had spent the remainder of the flight getting soundly drunk off little bottles of liquor. It was extremely awkward, pulling the carry-on luggage with one hand, and supporting a great deal of Matt’s weight with the other. Matt’s red bowtie was undone and hanging around his neck, he dragged his jacket behind him with the hand that wasn’t around Rory’s shoulders.

“That was new,” Matt slurred. “Never honked for thirty minutes straight before.”

“You wouldn’t have kept getting sick if you hadn’t had so much to drink,” said Rory, his irritation at Matt’s behavior showing in his disapproving expression.

“Oh, I think it was a necessity. As a matter of fact, I think I need another one.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“Who’re you? My big brother?” said Matt, bumping his shoulder against Rory’s, but ending up throwing most of his weight into it. Rory barely managed to keep both of them upright. “OHH, THAT’S RIGHT, you are! And I’m the youngest grandson of quite possibly the most dangerous lunatic on the planet!”

“Matt, shut up!” Rory bit out.

“Nope!”

Rory stopped walking and pushed Matt up against the nearest wall, not hard enough to hurt him, but not gently either. “Matt! Your parents are, in all probability, waiting for you at baggage claim. I suggest you sober up while you can!”

Matt just laughed. “You were there, you saw how much I drank. I don’t think sober is an option.”

Without warning, Rory punched Matt in the face. Matt bent in half and vomited on the floor as Rory shook his fist and rubbed his knuckles.

“Did that help?” he asked, harshly.

“Uh... yeah,” said Matt. He straightened up on a groan, rubbing his cheek and definitely looking dazed, but more sober. “Thanks... I think.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Good. Anytime. Let’s go.”

With a bit more certainty, the brothers headed for baggage claim, warily side by side. Rory let Matt take the lead as they neared the checkpoint, hoping to ease his presence onto the aunt and uncle he hadn’t seen personally since he was a child. Predictably, all their focus was on Matt once he came into view, the tall man with brown hair just graying at the temples stepped forward with a wide grin, his arms open.

“Matt, my boy!” Jackson cried happily. “You’re a bit wobbly, what’s wrong? Still have your sea legs?”

Rosita came up beside him, smiling, her wildly curly black hair bouncing with each step she took. “Oh, look at you!” she said. “So tall and...” Her eyes narrowed. “Bloodshot and...” She sniffed discreetly. “Oh! You smell like a pub exploded.”

“Rough flight,” was all Matt said as explanation.

“Well, we’ll find your bags, get you back home and you can tell us all about--” He stopped in mid-sentence as his eyes came to rest on Rory, standing a few feet behind Matt. “Rory?” he asked, shock and wonder in his tone.

“Oh, God,” Rosita uttered, one hand going to her mouth.

Rory pressed his lips together, almost a smile. “Hello, Uncle Jackson. Aunt Rosita.”

Tears were welling up in Rosita’s dark brown eyes. “You’ve grown up... Oh, you look so much like your mother...”

Jackson wrapped an arm around his wife. “I don’t think now’s the time, dear.”

“He’s right,” said Rory. “Is there a place we can talk? Privately.”

“So, I take it... Matt knows?” asked Jackson.

“Yes,” said Matt, irritated. “Matt knows. I’m right here!”

Jackson looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, my boy, delicate situation and all that.”

“Exactly WHEN were you planning on telling me?” Matt demanded, beginning to get upset again. “Why was I the only one kept in the dark?”

“You were so young when Donna--” Rosita began in a watery voice, but Jackson cut her off with an abrupt wave of his hand.

“This is not the place,” he said. “I have a car waiting. We can talk on the way to the hotel.”

A teenage girl trotted up to the small group then, offering a tentative smile to Matt. “Excuse me,” she said. “Aren’t you Matthew Grayson Ellef?”

“No,” said Matt, shortly. “I’m not. Sorry. I get that a lot.”

“Oh,” said the girl, disappointed. “Sorry.”

As the fan turned and left, Matt muttered, “I’m not really sure who I am.”

* * *

The privacy screen was up in the town car as the four of them settled into their seats. Jackson and Rosita sat in the forward facing seat while Rory and Matt sat next to each other on the parallel seat. Rory quickly informed his aunt and uncle of all he’d told Matt on the flight. A small part of Matt had been hoping that the people he’d known all his life as his parents, adopted or no, would tell him it was a lie. That hope was soundly squashed as his father sighed and his mother looked at him so sadly, as though her heart was breaking.

“I’m afraid what Rory told you is true, Matt,” said Jackson in a resigned, serious tone. “And Rassilon was, in all likelihood, the figure behind the loss of our home.”

“It means he knows who we are. That we helped hide you from him.” Rosita clutched at her husband’s arm. “Oh God, Jackson, we’ve failed Donna.”

“No, you haven’t,” Rory said. “We all knew that someday this would be a possibility.”

“Oh, we ALL knew, did we?” said Matt, snarkily.

Rory turned to his brother, frowning in agitation. “Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for two seconds? There’s a bigger issue at hand here! Don’t you realize that if your parents hadn’t gotten a flat tire on their way home from that party, they would be dead right now?” He paused as Matt blanched, apparently the fact that his parents had been lucky had escaped him. Rory continued, somewhat calmer, but still intense. “Rassilon is not out to hurt you and me. WE are safe. It’s everyone around us that’s in danger. Everyone who raised us, who protected us throughout our lives.” He took a breath, looking to Jackson and Rosita. “Now, my family has been preparing for this for years. Hiding places, aliases, and lots and lots of trusted friends.”

Jackson nodded. “With Rosita and I, money and friends can get you anywhere in the world. We are also very visible to the public here, and our disappearance would not go unnoticed. It would be very... troublesome for Rassilon to get rid of us.”

“The fact that he tried already shows how desperate he is to find you two,” said Rosita.

“We’ve been preparing for this event as well.” Jackson turned to his wife with a smile. “Darling, we haven’t gone on a trip around the world in so long... Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Oh, a second honeymoon, is it, Jackson?”

“That’s the ticket.”

Rosita looked to Matt. “Coming with us, dear?”

Matt shook his head, despondently. “No, I’ve got--” His head snapped up. “Oh, my God...” He dove into his jacket pocket for his mobile and speed-dialed Clara.

“Hello?”

Matt checked his arm out of habit. “Clara? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I take it you made it to Northampton okay.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m at home,” she said, giggling lightly. “Where else would I be? I’m getting ready for bed.” She paused. “Oh, hold on, there’s someone at the door.”

“No!” cried Matt, panicking at once for his girlfriend who was completely clueless about being in danger. “Don’t answer it!”

“Why not?” she asked. “What’s the matter?” Her amused tone told him that she believed he was being silly with her, when nothing could be farther from his mind.

Rory grabbed at Matt’s arm holding the mobile. “Tell Clara to get out of the house, tell her to get out!”

“Would you shut it a minute?” Matt hissed at him, muffling the phone with his hand. He took a breath, then said, more calmly, “Look, sweetie... Um... Do you have a friend you can stay with... for a while?”

“Why?”

“The, um... house. Needs... something...” He didn’t want to worry Clara, but he didn’t want to lie to her either. She was just going to have to trust him. “Look, Clara. Just listen to me. Please. I need you to stay with someone that you trust.”

“Well... I suppose Rose might need some help planning her wedding, but that’s all the way up in Bothal--”

“Good!” said Matt, pleased that it was far away from London. “I’ll meet you in Bothal in a few days.”

“Matt,” she said, slowly drawing out his name the way she always did right before a Clara-rant. “Should I be worried? For some reason or another? Because you know how I am and if you don’t tell me then I’m going to assume something’s wrong and that’s going to drive me just a little bit barmy. Remember how I get? Oh, God, I’m talking really fast, aren’t I? Because you always say that I talk really really fast when I get upset and then I forget to breathe and--” She took in several fast gulps of air. “--Oh, God, here it comes...”

“Clara, stop!” Matt ordered.

She took a big intake of breath and held it.

“Now, let it out,” he said. _“Slowly.”_

Clara began a slow, controlled exhale.

Matt focused on keeping his tone calm, but serious. “There is something to worry about. But it’s not about you. What I need you to do is pack a suitcase, right now, get on a plane, and stay with your friend. Tell her, for me, that I need you to be with someone for a while, it’s _very_ important. I just can’t tell you why right now.”

He heard the sound of fabric moving near the phone and Clara sighed.

“Why did you get me all freaked out?” she asked. “Someone just left a bunch of flowers on our doorstep.”

“Flowers?”

“Yes, I can read the card from here,” she said. “Your granddad sent us some flowers.”

Matt’s heart pounded. “Don’t bring them in,” he told Clara. “Someone must be playing a joke on us. Just... go to Ruby’s.”

“Rose’s.”

“Whatever, Rose’s. I’ll see you soon. Call me as much as you want.”

“Okay. See you.”

Matt’s hand was shaking as he ended the call. Rory placed his hand over the mobile and Matt lifted his gaze, seeking reassurance.

“It’s a warning,” said Rory, darkly. “He knows where you live. He knows about Clara.”

“What about Alie?” asked Matt.

Rory knew who Matt meant. “Amy’s in the middle of a hospital. She can’t be moved without familial consent. Besides, the police are already looking after her because of the whole attempted murder thing. I don’t think she’s in any great danger for now.”

Matt fidgeted with his mobile, resisting the urge to call his girlfriend again. “Do you think Clara will be safe?”

“With Rose Tyler?” asked Rory. “I think even Rassilon would watch his step around her.”

* * *

Reinette paused outside the large wooden double doors of the office and straightened her skirt, then smoothed her hair, making sure not a strand was out of place. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, then knocked.

“Enter.”

She opened one door and slipped inside the massive room, her heels sinking just a bit into the plush red carpet. She closed the door behind her, the heavy wood sliding silently into place. The grey haired man at the desk in a dark charcoal suit looked up from what he was writing.

“Ah, Reinette. Are you acclimating yourself to your new office?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Very generous of you.”

“The company will benefit from talents like yours.”

She moved closer to the sleek polished desk. “The decor is quite opulent. Seventeenth century France, if I’m not mistaken. I just thought the room might be a little larger. You know... as part of my reward.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, setting his pen down. “Reward? For what, exactly?”

“The information I provided. Your grandsons. The identities of the people who kept them from you.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, as though reminded of something. “That.”

He leaned down and opened a desk drawer, removing a silver pocket watch and holding it up by its chain. Reinette sucked in a sharp breath as the time piece rotated slowly, showing by turns the blank underside and the cover decorated with a stylized infinity symbol.

“Tell me what this is, Reinette.”

“It’s my pocket watch,” she said in a thready voice. Her blue eyes stood out starkly in her face that had gone white with fear.

“What does it do?” he asked, calmly.

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s stopped.”

“That’s really a shame. What if someone were to wind it?”

“No! Don’t do that!” But he’d already twisted the spring. Reinette bent over in pain, groaning. “What... are you... doing?”

“Has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten what aging feels like?” he asked.

She grit her teeth against the pain thrumming through her veins. “Damn... you... Rassilon! I brought your grandsons back to you!”

“This is your punishment for withholding the information for so long,” he said, harshly. “Not that I’m ungrateful. Your reward is that I didn’t make you your _true_ age.”

She clutched at her heart, her eyes filling with tears against the agony spreading through her. “Please,” she begged. “Please, stop it!”

“I can’t do that,” he said. “Once you wind a watch, you can’t stop it. Unless you break it.” He abruptly squeezed the pocket watch in his fist and she cried out, in even more pain that before. “You _can_ slow it down. But you know what that would take.”

Reinette gasped for breath. “I’ll... find a suitable host.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Rassilon. “Resourceful little thing.” He dropped the watch back into his desk and leveled a steely gaze at her. “Now, get out. And you may want to look for that host soon. You’re not getting any younger.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Where were we?”

Amy stared at the strange, dark haired woman who called herself Amy’s ‘therapist.’ The woman just shuffled the paperwork in her hands and smiled blithely, as if she hadn’t just shown Amy that her body was actually in a coma while her consciousness was here... nowhere.

“This is completely weird,” said Amy.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said the therapist. “Does it make you feel better, to know where your body is?”

“NO,” said Amy, flatly. “Do you have any idea what that sentence just sounded like?”

“Actually, yes.” She shrugged. “When you’ve worked on as many cases as I have... There’s not a lot you haven’t seen or heard or said.”

“Okay, so...” Amy spread her hands. “How do I get back?”

“That depends a great deal on you. Do you want to go back?”

“Uh, yeah. I kind of have a life back there!” Amy said, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll talk more about this later... There’s still a lot we need to cover before we get to that point.” The therapist turned to a new page in the papers on her lap. “Tell me about your job.”

“Wow. That’s not interesting,” said Amy.

“Yet you have interests there.” The therapist lifted an eyebrow. “I think you know who I mean.”

“Ah...” Amy felt her cheeks heating up. “You mean Rory.”

The therapist gave her a little smug smile. “Yes, I mean Rory,” she said, suggestively.

Amy looked at the floor, feeling the blush all the way to her ears. “I... I don’t know... He... We...”

She was saved from making any sort of description as the projection on the wall started up again and Amy recognized herself in her office at Gallifrey. It had to be three or four years ago, she was still using the old heavy desk the office’s last occupant had. She’d recently been promoted to lead copy editor then. A knock came at the door and Amy at the desk looked up from whatever she was working on.

“Come in!”

Rory from four years ago came into her office, looking incredibly hot in his well-fitting suit and a pair of slim-line glasses perched on his nose. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Rory Williams, from the Poisson division. You’re Amelia Pond?”

Her mouth was slightly open, but no answer was forthcoming. Her brain seemed to have stalled while looking at the gorgeousness before her. “Uh...”

He smiled. “Yes or no?” he asked, trying to be helpful.

“Uh, yeah!” said Amy. “I mean, yes. Amelia Pond. That’s me. See, it says so right on my name plate.” She tapped the little brass plate at the front of her desk with a pen.

“Well, good,” he said, coming in and shutting the door. “As I said, I’m from the Poisson division, and I’ve been sent to talk to you about the Sato account.”

Amy had her chin in her hand as she gazed appreciatively at Rory. “Uh-huh...” Something was bothering her about him. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I do work here,” he said.

“Right...” she said, not sounding entirely convinced. “That’s probably it.”

“You have an option in the Sato account, right?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation back to business.

“Um, yeah.” Her brow furrowed as she looked at him more closely. “No, that’s not it, I’m sure I know you from somewhere else.”

Rory sighed and removed his glasses. “Does this look familiar?” He put one hand to his lapel and gave Amy what could only be termed as ‘the smoulder.’ “Egyptian brushed cotton,” he said, in a low, intimate voice. “For that sophisticated feel.”

Amy leapt out of her chair, her arms gesticulating wildly. “OHMYGOD, you’re the shirt guy!”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Yeah. The shirt guy.”

“You’re the guy that wore the shirts!” she exclaimed.

He replaced his glasses. “And here’s where I am today.”

She came around the desk to stand in front of him. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I totally went off there. But you know how when you meet someone and you just _know_ you’ve seen them somewhere before? That would have driven me spare all day! Now, I can tell my friend, ‘you know who I met today? The guy with the face who wore the shirts!’”

Rory laughed. “Wow, that’s really... vague.”

“Yet, oddly specific!” said Amy, smiling.

“I have to say, this is the first time I’ve been recognized... like that,” he said, helplessly returning her smile.

She leaned back against her desk. “I’m sorry, you were here for a reason.”

“Right,” he said, snapping to. “The Sato account.”

“Yes. Continue.”

“Reinette Poisson would like you to step back from it so she can make the sole bid.” Rory waited, as though he’d explained everything sufficiently.

“And... why would I do that?” Amy prompted.

“Because... she’s asking you to,” he said.

“Mmmyeah, I still have no idea what you mean,” said Amy. She leaned toward him, squinting a little. “Is this code? I mean, I am still kind of new around here...”

“Reinette Poisson,” Rory reiterated.

“Yeah. Got it. She works here.”

“She’s... a PR agent.”

Amy placed a hand to her chest in mock shock. “So am I! Small world!”

“She’s directly in competition with you.”

“Oh!” said Amy, getting it. “She wants me to bow out so she can have the top account.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

Rory sighed in relief that Amy understood. “Okay. Good. So, I’ll just tell her--”

“Not a chance in hell,” said Amy with a cheerful smile.

Rory blinked. “What?”

Amy looked at the ceiling for a moment to think of a ‘business’ way of saying it. “Um... I respectfully decline her request for my acquiescence. Do you still _have_ those shirts or did they make you give them back?”

He sputtered for a moment, utterly speechless. “But-- You-- you don’t-- I still have them, they just don’t fit anymore. You’re--” He gulped. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling Reinette Poisson, ‘no?’”

“Yes,” said Amy, nodding. “Not yes as in I’m telling her yes, but yes as in I’m telling her no.”

“Wow.” He stared at her for a moment, clearly impressed. “Well...” He looked back at the door. “I guess... I’ll have to go tell her.”

Amy straightened from the desk in order to walk him the short distance to the door. “It was really good to meet you, Rory. Can I call you Rory? Mr. Williams just seems so formal and I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you?”

He laughed again. “You... You’re something else. Sure. What do you like to be called?”

She scrunched up her nose. “For reasons I shouldn’t explain, my nickname is usually Kitten. But you can call me Amy for now.”

“Okay. Amy.”

He opened the door and began to walk out.

“Hey, um...” she called after him. When he turned back, she stood there in the door of her office awkwardly. “Do you ever... do things?”

Rory paused. “Apart from wearing shirts?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Like... you know... eat food?”

“It’s better than eating shirts,” he said, with a half-smile.

“I would imagine,” she said. “Maybe, perhaps, we could eat food in the same place, some time.”

“Like... a date?” he asked, his cheeks turning a bit pink.

Amy felt her own blush creeping up her chest and she looked everywhere but at Rory. “Oh... uh... well... I can understand where you might get a date-like notion from that statement... And it’s not that I’m NOT validating that notion... I just... uh...”

Rory smiled at her. “Yeah. That’ll be great. How about Friday?”

Amy grinned. “My favorite day. I love Friday!”

“Okay. See you then.” He turned to go.

“Right!” she said. “Unless you spot me stalking you in the halls.”

He turned back. “What?”

“See you Friday!” She closed her office door and leaned against it with a sigh.

The projection blinked and then faded. “How did it go?” asked the therapist.

“Badly.”

The therapist gestured at the wall where the projection had been. “Worse than _that?”_

“It wasn’t really a date,” said Amy with a shrug. “He had to work late, so we got Chinese take away and I helped him with paperwork and other mindless crap.”

“Did you talk?”

“Of course. Quite a bit. Mostly about Reinette.” Amy traced a design on the shapeless sofa with one finger. “I found out during that ‘date’ that he was sleeping with her.”

“That must have been uncomfortable.”

Amy tilted her head a bit. “It _would_ have been, but the way he talked about it... Like it was part of his job. Which he also hated, I found out.”

“So, you spent an evening together, getting to know one another.”

“Sort of. It was still really awkward.” Amy shifted uncomfortably. “I was still a virgin at the time.”

“Ah,” said the therapist, knowingly.

“Yeah, it’s really difficult to talk to a man that attractive and want to get into his pants and have NO idea how to do it.”

“How did you overcome this?” asked the therapist.

“I talked to an expert.” Predictably, the projector started up again. This time, Amy was in Rose’s office in Human Resources. From the bags of take away on the desk, it was Rose’s lunch hour. Back then, she never left the office for lunch.

“I’m not an expert at this,” Rose said, around her sandwich.

“Oh, come on,” said Amy, desperate for advice.

“I’m slaggy. That doesn’t make me an expert in getting laid.”

“No, no, I think it does,” said Amy. “I think that’s actually the definition.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Look, you get a new guy in your bed every single week without fail. There HAS to be some kind of technique!”

“My technique is flawed.”

“And yet, it works! Come on, share with me, oh, wise woman!”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to be impressed once I tell you.”

“I’m not here to be impressed, I’m here to be informed!” Amy looked at Rose beseechingly. “Rose, please. I really like Rory Williams.”

“No!” exclaimed Rose, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Shut up,” said Amy. “But I can’t really go for him... feeling this way about myself.”

“Feel what way?”

“Wrong. Like there’s something wrong with me.”

“What?”

Amy sighed. “I can’t attract a man.”

Rose shook her head. “Rory is _clearly_ attracted to you.”

“You don’t understand,” said Amy. “I’ve been conditioned to think this way. Every bit of training that I’ve had since I was a little girl tells me that the physical act of... you know...”

“Shagging?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Amy dropped her head in her hands.

“Call it what it is,” said Rose. “It’s sex, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Of course not,” said Amy. “But the fact that I haven’t had sex with anyone yet IS.”

“That’s got to be the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard,” said Rose. “Who told you this?”

Amy lifted an eyebrow at her friend. “You want to take a guess, or do you want to spin the wheel?”

“I just didn’t think they were _that_ screwed up.” Rose took a sip of her tea, looked at Amy, then sighed. “It’s that important to you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay. It’s really simple. I mean, ridiculously simple.”

“Is it recockulously simple?” asked Amy.

“Yes,” Rose confirmed. “Recockulously simple. Nip round the local. _Any_ local.”

“A gay local?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Do you want to get laid, or not?” Amy gestured for Rose to continue. “All right, so you pick a pub. Go there late. And stay there. Wait until everyone pairs up and goes home. There will usually be three or four guys at the end of the night who are still by themselves. If you’re lucky, one of them won’t be repellant and when he sends you a drink, you accept it. In about ten minutes, you’re at his place, shagging. And in forty-five-ish minutes, you’re back at home.” She made a broad gesture with one hand. “Sometimes they’ll call back and it might last another week. But usually, you never hear from them again.”

Amy’s eyes were huge. _“That’s_ how you do it?”

Rose shrugged. “Them’s the breaks. Not a whole lot of options for someone like me.”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” Amy mumbled.

“Who said anything about romance?” said Rose. “I know how to get _laid._ Hell, I can even come with you, if you like, though I probably shouldn’t if you want a sure thing.” She scooted closer to Amy, giving her a discerning look. “This whole... ‘idea’ you have about sex being something big and important? It’s crap. It’s all crap. Virginity is a non-issue. And once you’ve gotten rid of it, you’ll see what I mean. It’s not going to be good. In fact, you might hate it. First times are _always_ bad. The point is to realize that it is what it is, and to leave it at that. My best advice to you, is leave your heart out of it. Don’t _ever_ let anyone in. Nothing is permanent.”

Amy sat back in her chair, feeling utterly drained. “Wow. I really feel like shit now, Rose. Thanks.”

Rose just sat back in her chair, shaking her head. “You want to feel better about yourself? See a therapist. You want to see what bullshit you’ve been fed your whole life, go out and get laid. Do it for Clara, since she won’t. Go out and take one for the team, that’s your mission this weekend, Amy. And I want you to call me the second you get done.”

“Why?”

“It amuses me.”

The projection wound down and blinked out. “She really read you the riot act when you didn’t call her,” said the therapist.

“It’s her own sense of humor,” said Amy.

“Yes,” said the therapist, nodding. “She was very dark back then.”

“Back then?”

“So, what happened that weekend?” the therapist asked.

Amy shrugged. “It was just like she said. A non-issue. The guy wasn’t important. I think his name was... Dave? I want to say Dave. I don’t even remember what he looked like.”

The therapist began searching through the paperwork. “I could look that up, if you like...”

“No, thanks,” Amy said, waving a hand. “The important thing was how the experience made me feel. I felt... free. For the first time in my life. Really free. I had done the ultimate sin and wasn’t struck down by lightning. And odds were, I could do it again and STILL not be struck by lightning! I could do it twelve different ways on five different days, and still no cosmic beat-down stick would come down on my head. And it wasn’t difficult. And it was... fun. After a while.”

“Well, then what stopped you from asking Rory out again?”

“Ugh.” Amy made a face. “There were issues. With Reinette.”

“Ah, yes. Let’s talk about Reinette.”

“Do we have to?”

“No,” said the therapist. “But you want to. So, why does she hate you?”

“Because I’m the only one who openly opposes her. She’s not really good at her job, she’s just good at being intimidating.”

“But you aren’t intimidated.”

“Why should I be?” asked Amy.

“How did it start?”

“It was four years ago, when I got promoted up to Reinette’s level at Gallifrey. We each had a fair shot at the same account. I just happened to get it.” The projection started up again as Amy talked. “It was Mr. Sato’s birthday. So, Reinette throws a gigantic formal dinner party. And _everybody_ was there to kiss his shiny sixty-nine year old arse. She _also_ invited me. I found out later it was because she really wanted to show me up in person.”

Up on the wall, an elegantly dressed Reinette stood at the head of a fancy table, a flute of champagne in her hand, which she delicately tapped with a knife to get everyone’s attention. Beside her sat an elderly Asian man, who smiled gamely at the sea of formally dressed party-goers.

“I would like to propose a toast to our guest of honor tonight,” Reinette said, smiling down at the man next to her. “As you all know, Sato Industries has been bringing us fine products for over forty years now, helmed by the magnificent man sitting with us here.”

Everyone offered polite golf claps. Reinette continued with her speech, but Amy, dressed in her formal black gown, just rolled her eyes and moved across the room to the bar where it was slightly harder to heard her.

“Oh, God,” she said, sitting down on a barstool. “Just shut up all ready. Reinette, you are so far up his arse, he can taste your shampoo.”

Next to her, a petite Asian girl in cute glasses snorted. “If she can find room up there among everyone else.” She expertly bounced a 10p coin off the bar and into an empty shot glass.

“Oh, sorry,” said Amy, edging away a little. “Didn’t mean to disturb your game.”

“Please, disturb me,” she begged. “I’m bored to tears.”

Amy looked closer at the girl and saw that she was actually a woman, perhaps even a bit older than she was, she just looked young. Amy held out a hand. “I’m Amy.”

She took it for a firm shake. “Call me Tosh.”

“Nice to meet you. You like sake?”

“I’m Asian,” said Tosh. “I’d have my license revoked if I didn’t like sake. You know how to play FUBAR?”

“I went to uni, I’ve seen it done,” said Amy. “You take the 10p, you get it in the shotglass. I make it, you drink. You make it, I drink. You miss a shot, you drink. It’s basically a lot of drinking designed to get you drunk really fast.”

“That’s the idea,” said Tosh. “You can flip it in the glass, or bounce it.”

“Are we that bored?” asked Amy.

“So bored that we need to get incredibly drunk?”

“I say yes.”

“I agree.”

Amy grinned and held out her hand. “Pass me the pile of coins!”

At this point, the projection sped up and Amy and Tosh comically went through their game, drinking and laughing, at an absurd pace.

“This... went on for a while,” said the therapist.

“She could really hold her sake,” said Amy, watching the accelerated projection. “Well, I mean, she could drink an awful lot of it without passing out. She still got drunk as a lord.”

As the projection slowed down to a normal speed, the party was still going on around Amy and Tosh, but they weren’t paying any attention. They were too busy laughing their arses off and attempting to remain on their barstools.

“Wait, wait, wait--!” said Tosh.

“What?”

“Wait, I got it, wait...”

Amy giggled. “Will you just tell me what I win?”

“No, you tell me what I win first!” said Tosh.

“I’ll think of somethin.’”

Tosh grabbed at Amy’s arm, pulling her back and forth. “No, tell me now!”

Amy lifted an eyebrow at her new friend. “You don’t want anything, like... dirty, do you?”

“Always!” declared Tosh. “But that would be prossy-- prosty-- prostitution. And I’m not up for that. Right now.” She snorted and they both fell into gales of laughter again.

Amy gasped for air. “Okay... Okay... I will... get you...” She pointed at Tosh’s face. “A pony!”

“I like ponies!” Tosh said brightly. “But... I have ponies already.”

“Do you have... a blue pony?” asked Amy.

Tosh gasped ecstatically. “I do not! I will take your wager of a blue pony! And I will match it... with something... really cool.”

Amy shoved Tosh’s shoulder, and Tosh wobbled on the barstool, causing them both to throw their arms around each other to stop her from falling to the ground. “That’s not fair,” said Amy, once Tosh was settled again. “I wanna know what I’ll win!”

“Okay, but it’s a secret. You can’t tell anybody til tomorrow.” Tosh placed a finger to her lips. “Shhhh!”

Amy mimicked her friend, still giggling. “Shhh. I promise.”

“Okay.” Tosh pointed over at the elder Sato who was surrounded by well-wishers. “You see that really old guy over there? With people that have no heads coming out of his arse?”

“Yeah?” said Amy, barely able to get the word out amid the laughter at the mental image.

“He’s my granddad!” said Tosh, laughing.

“No!” said Amy, her eyes going wide. _“You’re_ Toshiko Sato? Sole heir to Sato Industries?”

“Yep! S’me! I win!” said Tosh with a big grin.

“No, no! We haven’t played yet!” Amy said, holding up her last 10p.

“Right, okay,” said Tosh. “So, anyway, that old bloke is a sadistic sonofabitch. You know what he decided to give himself for his birthday? You’ll never guess.”

“A pony?”

“Close. Retirement!”

“No!”

“Yeah! And he didn’t tell anyone about it! So, for the past three days,” Here, Tosh held up four fingers, “since he signed the company over to yours truly, everybody’s been kissing the wrong arse!” She laughed maniacally. “So, if you win... I will give you the Sato account and you can be our preh agent.”

“It’s P-R,” said Amy.

“I know,” said Tosh, still laughing. “It’s just fun!”

“What happens if I lose?” asked Amy.

“Then you owe me a pony. Remember?”

“Right. A blue pony.”

Tosh held up her 10p. “Ready? One... two... three!”

They each tossed their coins, which arced gracefully through the air, before landing in the shotglass with a high pitched ‘plink! plink!’ Amy threw her hands up in victorious celebration.

“We win!” she cried.

“It’s a tie!” exclaimed Tosh. “You get the account!”

“You get the pony!” They each downed their shots and fell into each others arms for a congratulatory hug as they laughed together. The projection wound down and the therapist smiled at Amy.

“Looks like you had a good time,” she said.

Amy nodded. “Yeah, Tosh and I are still friends.”

“What happened after the party?”

“The next day, I took her to the nearest Poundland and bought her a blue plastic pony. And she signed the account over to me. Right there in aisle five.” Amy grinned, shaking her head. “Reinette did NOT have such a good time. Once she found out about the switch-over, it was said that her shriek could be heard all the way down in the mail room.” She giggled lightly. “I guess she was a little upset that she had gone to such trouble to impress the wrong person. Tosh’s right, her grandfather really is a sadistic bastard. Really good at karaoke, though!”

“And the rivalry with Reinette continues. Why?” asked the therapist.

“I wouldn’t stay under her thumb.” Amy scoffed. “Hell, I wouldn’t get under it in the first place. It’s not like I go out of my way to make her angry... Well, not _all_ the time. She just tries to control everything and everyone. And I spent enough time growing up that way to let her do it to me.” She let out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t understand what her deal is.”

“Reinette is a special case,” said the therapist, looking down at Amy’s paperwork. “One that needs to be handled with great care.”

Amy lifted an eyebrow. “Is that something I’m not supposed to know?”

“No,” said the therapist with an amused tone. “I think you already know it.”

Amy pursed her lips momentarily. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” said the therapist, still amused.

“You know what I mean.”

The woman laughed lightly. “Yes, I do. And yes, you may ask any question you like, Amy.”

“Can you... tell me how I got here?” she asked.

“You don’t remember?”

Amy shook her head. “No. Just suddenly, here I was.”

“Is it really important to you that you know?”

“Uh, YEAH,” Amy said, as though it should be obvious. Honestly, it was like this woman was from another planet.

“Well, tell me about the last day you recall.”

Amy’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember what had been happening before she ended up in the white room. Bits and pieces began flowing back to her. “Oh, yeah... It was kind of an odd day.” The projection blinked to life on the wall again. “Elton was sick. He’d begged me to go to his lecture for him and take notes. When I tried to leave a voice recorder on the professor’s desk, I got a lecture, so temperature of one-oh-two or not, Elton had to go to class and I was by myself.” Amy paused. “I was alone. That’s... all I remember.”

The therapist gestured at the wall. “Keep watching.”

A girl in a FedEx uniform, her red hair in a ponytail through the back of her ball cap, knocked on the screen of the frat house. “Package!” she called, setting a fruit basket down on the stoop and getting her stylus out for her delivery gadget to mark that the package had arrived.

“Leave it on the step!” called Amy from inside.

“I would, but this is perishable,” said the delivery girl. Amy came to the door and opened it. “Is Elton Toddy here?”

“He’s out at the moment,” said Amy.

The girl held out the unwieldy device and the stylus. “I just need a signature. It doesn’t have to be his.” Amy scribbled something that might have almost looked like her name and the girl holstered the device and handed Amy the cellophane wrapped basket. “Here you go.”

“Fruit basket. Nice.”

The girl made a face. “Seems like a waste to me.”

“Why?” asked Amy.

“Well, this is a frat house, right?” said the girl. “Does he, or any of his friends, actually eat fruit?”

“Huh,” said Amy, looking over the large assortment of apples, bananas, and one pineapple. “Yeah, they tend to think of it as more of a decoration. Or a... projectile for people they don’t like.”

The delivery girl nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She gestured at the fruit. “Do you think he’d mind, or even notice, if I--?”

“Nah, go ahead. There’s so much here.”

“Thanks, I skipped lunch.” She prized open a bit of the plastic wrap and grabbed a red and green apple. “Here, I’ll split it with you.” From her belt, she took a knife and unfolded it with a click. Amy’s eyes widened but the girl was completely blasé as she worked to carefully cut the apple in two. “Standard issue,” she said, regarding the knife. “For cutting package twine. And protection, you know? In case someone tries to steal something.”

“Didn’t know the delivery service was so cut-throat.”

“In certain parts of London? You have no idea.”

Amy set the basket down near the door and retrieved the card to see who it was from. Written in a flowing script was ‘Love Gramma.’ Amy smiled. “How sweet.”

The girl bit into her half of the apple. “Mm. So’s this. Here’s your half.”

“Thanks.” Amy took a bite of the apple, enjoying the sweet-tart taste. “You’re right, this apple’s really...” She coughed. “Really...” It tasted off suddenly, it tasted like... “I--” She coughed more urgently. It tasted like... ash. “I can’t--”

Amy fell to her knees, clutching her throat, coughing more and more violently. The apple fell from her grip and wobbled on the carpet. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly as her throat closed up. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed onto the floor.

The delivery girl watched the whole thing with cold, dispassionate eyes. When Amy had stopped coughing, had stopped moving, she removed the cap from her head, shaking out her hair which shimmered from red to blonde.

“That’s what you get, Pond,” said Reinette in her normal, overly cultured, yet darkly sinister voice. “When I put something down... It STAYS DOWN.” As she turned and left, she threw back her head and laughed.

As the projector stopped, Amy got up from her seat and stomped over to the wall, as though she were about to reach into the projection and slap a certain blonde bitch into next week. “What the fuck?!” she exclaimed. “I choked on an apple?!”

“Well, no,” said the therapist. “That’s the general reaction to that particular poison.”

“I was poisoned?!” Amy turned around to look at the other woman. “By Reinette. For God’s sake, what the hell is WRONG with her?” She put her hands on her hips. “And really? A poisoned apple? Really, now? That sounds just like--”

“Yes. I’m glad the irony wasn’t lost on you.”

“But I didn’t die?” Amy asked.

“No. Apparently, the professor who lectured you couldn’t handle Elton vomiting all over his classroom, so Elton came back and found you. He kept you breathing long enough to save you until the EMT showed up.”

Amy sighed. “Elton. What a guy. Remind me NOT to send a fruit basket as a thank you.”

A tone sounded and the high robotic voice rang out, “Status change requested for Client, Pond, Amelia. Change status to pending termination, accept or deny.”

“Denied,” said the therapist. “Set as to be determined.”

“Affirmative.”

“Wait, what?” Amy cried, taking a few steps toward the woman. “Why is my status changing? I’m stationary! I’m... quasi-comfortable with that!”

The therapist frowned at her paperwork. “There seems to be an issue with your aunt. She is... It’s complicated.”

“So, un-complicate it!”

The therapist sighed. “I suppose I could show you what’s going on...”

“Yes!” said Amy, gesturing at the wall. “Do that!”

With an elegant shrug, the therapist said, “Very well.” The wall lit up again, showing Amy’s hospital room, which was full of people now, several of the frat boys as well as Amy’s aunt, Sharon, and a young, dark skinned female doctor. The gray haired woman with the dour expression was staring at Amy’s lifeless, but still living, body with an air of resignation.

“You can’t do this!” said Elton.

“You boys don’t understand,” said Sharon, sadly. “We don’t believe in keeping family members alive in this state.”

“So you pull the plug?” exclaimed Elton.

“How decidedly philistine,” commented Caspar from the corner.

“This isn’t what Amy would want,” said Sharon.

“You don’t know that!” said Elton.

“I raised her since she was a young girl, I think I know what her wishes would be,” said Sharon.

“No, you don’t!” Amy yelled at the projection. “Aunt Sharon, for God’s sake, you keep that plug in!” She squeezed her eyes shut, making a disgusted face. “UGH. My head just went somewhere it REALLY shouldn’t have...”

“Amy is still alive,” said Caspar.

“You think _this_ is alive?” asked Sharon. “She was so full of life and spark! Look at her! Look at how she is now. This is not how she would want to be remembered.”

Elton turned to the doctor, desperately. “What are her chances?” he asked.

“In all likelihood, she has a less than ten percent chance of ever coming out of it,” said Doctor Jones.

“That can’t be true,” said Elton. “Let me see her chart.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not--” She looked at the clear plastic holder on the wall and frowned when she saw it was empty. She made a frustrated noise. “Not again...” She went to the door and opened it, then yanked the chart out of Einstein’s hands. “GIVE ME THAT.”

“I was just checking it for errors!” said Einstein, in his defense.

“Try it again and I’ll have to ask you to leave the hospital,” said Doctor Jones, sternly. She let her dark eyes roam over the other frat boys in the hall. “And the rest of you, keep it down! This is ICU, not a toga party!”

Meanwhile, Elton went to Caspar’s dark corner, whispering to him, “I’ve got to call Rory. He needs to know about this. Talk to the aunt, okay?”

“Got it,” said Caspar with a smile that was just creepy. While Elton stayed in the corner to quietly call Rory on his mobile, Caspar approached Amy’s aunt majestically. Well, _going for_ majestically. “Ms. Pond,” he intoned. “You simply cannot do this.”

Sharon sighed. “I know you all care very much about Amelia, but--”

“No,” Caspar interrupted. “You do not understand. Amy has TOLD me you must wait.”

“She told you this?” asked Sharon in disbelief.

“No, no! She is TELLING me this!” He closed his eyes and placed his hands to his temples. “Hold on... My connection to the spirit world is so tentative outside my magic circle...” He scrunched up his face as though concentrating hard. “She is saying... she is waiting for something... but she WILL return!”

Still in the white room, Amy glanced at the therapist. “Uhm... what?”

Caspar continued, intensely. “If you will allow me a few moments, I can try to establish a connection with Amy, so that you may speak with her.”

Aunt Sharon’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she was backed up against one wall, as far as she could get from Caspar without actually leaving the room. “No, really, that’s okay--”

He extended his index finger to her. “Shh! I must have quiet!” He put his hands up in the air and began humming a weird tune with his eyes shut. Anytime Sharon would try to sneak past him, he would gesticulate wildly, causing her to leap back away from him.

In the meantime, Elton dialed Rory, holding his hand around the mouthpiece of his mobile to muffle his words. “Rory, it’s Elton,” he said as soon as the other line picked up.

“Oh, no,” said Rory. “This can’t be good news.”

“You’ve got to get back here. Amy’s aunt is talking about pulling the plug.”

“What?!” Rory exclaimed. “She can’t do that!”

“As next of kin, she has every right, unfortunately,” said Elton. “We’ve all been taking turns trying to talk her out of it. Jaws even flirted with her some... Turns out, she’s not a cougar.”

“Did not need that mental image.”

“Sorry.”

“Let me talk to her,” said Rory.

“Okay.” Elton went back over to Sharon, pushing Caspar out of the way, who crashed into a chair. “Ms. Pond? Someone else would like to speak to you.” He passed the mobile to her, then went to see if Caspar had bruised anything important.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Pond. My name is Rory Williams.”

“Yes, Amelia has mentioned you many times,” said Sharon.

“She has?”

“Yes, she has been fond of you for some time.”

“I’m... I’m more than fond of her, Ms. Pond,” said Rory. “Look, I’m begging you not to turn off those machines. I _know_ Amy is in there. I can’t explain how, but... I just know.”

“Rory,” said Sharon, despondently, “I cannot allow my niece to remain in this state indefinitely. She wouldn’t want that.”

“Please! I’m in Northampton right now, but I am quite literally walking out the door to go to the airport to come back. Please, don’t do this. Not now. Not before I have a chance to say goodbye. Please...”

“Oh, Rory,” said Sharon, touched by his sincerity. “I can... understand... wanting to say goodbye,” she said in a quiet voice. “You have two days. I won’t let her suffer like this any longer than that.”

“Thank you!” said Rory. “I’ll be there!”

Sharon extended the mobile back to Elton, who took it. “Are you there?” he asked.

“Two days, Elton,” said Rory.

“I heard.”

“Until I get there, you and the other guys talk to her, read to her, sing and dance for all I care. Anything to make a connection to her. I’m on the next plane out.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

The front foyer of the Bothal house was strewn with boxes and what looked like an entire wardrobe of men’s clothes. Rose and the Doctor were going through all the boxes and systematically tossing the items into three piles: Keep, Toss, and Donate. Rose sighed as they opened up yet another box, frowning at the contents.

“Did they _have_ to give all of Harry’s clothes to you?” she asked.

The Doctor offered a half-shrug. “I’m the alpha now, everything he had passes to me.” He glanced at the smallest pile, of things they were going to keep. “I’m glad we’re getting rid of most of it. ‘Arrogant prat’ isn’t a style I’d like to adopt.”

“Not everything says ‘prat.’” She held up a long leather jacket that looked a bit worn, but still had plenty of years left in it. “This is nice.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll keep that.”

Rose clutched the jacket to herself and playfully stepped away when he would have grabbed for it. “No, _I_ will.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Why do you get to keep it? It’s much too big for you!”

She touched her tongue to the corner of her smile, looking at him in the way that made his knees feel like jelly. “You want to know why I get to keep it?” she asked in a low, seductive tone.

His mouth went dry as Rose slowly began to strip out of her jeans and jumper. His blood ran hot and zeroed in on a certain part of his anatomy, making him increasingly harder as more of her skin was revealed to his gaze. Finally, she slipped the leather jacket over her naked form, it swallowed her slight figure, but seeing her bare legs and knowing she had nothing on underneath the coat, even though he’d just seen her undress, was an incredible turn on.

“Well?” she prompted, shaking her hair out from the collar.

His throat worked as he swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he croaked. “You can... keep that.”

She wandered back to him, smiling knowingly. “Looks good?” she asked.

“Looks great,” he said, desire coiling deep within him as she came nearer. “It’ll look even better crumpled up on the floor in a minute.”

He grabbed the lapels of the jacket and pulled her flush against him with a growl. Rose giggled against his lips as his hands dove underneath the leather, seeking her softness. He bit her lower lip, opening her mouth wide before plunging his tongue inside, her moan only spurring him onward. Her leg came up around his hip and she rubbed herself against his hardness, making him groan.

The doorbell rang.

The Doctor tore his mouth away from Rose with a frustrated growl. “Goddammit. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He took a step away from her, running a hand through his hair. “Rose, get the door.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “I’m naked!”

He looked at her with those eyes, gone black with desire, and she understood. “I would probably not let the person on the other side live for very long.” He adjusted himself with a grimace. “I’m going to the loo to... calm down. You get the door.”

“Fine, fine,” she said as he walked down the hall, pulling on her jeans and buttoning the leather jacket enough to preserve some modesty. Her eyes widened as she opened the door to reveal Clara standing on the stoop with a suitcase, shivering from the cold.

“Hi!” said Clara, around chattering teeth.

“Clara?” said Rose in surprise.

“Hey!” She glanced around Rose into the house. “Can I come in? It’s _really_ cold out here.”

“Well... um...” Rose looked over her shoulder, but the Doctor was still in the toilet. “Just a minute,” she said the Clara, before shutting the door in her face. She ran down the hall and skidded to a halt just as the Doctor exited the loo. “Doctor, Clara’s here!”

“What?” he said, brow furrowing. “Well, okay, she can watch.”

He reached for her, but Rose took a step away, making a face. “Ew! It’d be like having my sister watch!”

“I’ve never had a sister,” he said, his eyes still trained on her body. “So, I’m okay with that.”

She shoved him in the shoulder. “FOCUS. Clara. Is. Here. Mum and dad will be coming back tomorrow, Doctor.”

“And?”

“She THINKS they’re DEAD.”

“Oh.” He blinked a few times, his eyes coming up to rest on her face. “Yeah, that could be a bit problematic.”

The doorbell rang. Clara had to be freezing.

“Well, find out why she’s here,” he said. “You should probably let her inside before she loses her toes.”

“Right.” Rose ran back to the door and opened it as if she hadn’t just left her friend standing in the snow. “Clara!” she said, congenially. “Come on in!”

Clara entered the house, rolling her suitcase behind her, and Rose closed the door. She gestured at the boxes and piles of clothing with a helpless smile.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “The place is a mess and we weren’t expecting... well, you.”

Clara clapped her hands on her arms, rubbing up and down vigorously as she tried to thaw out. “No problem,” she said. “The trip was kind of last minute.”

The Doctor walked in from the hall then, smiling. “Clara, good to see you!” he said. He leaned over to give her a hug, careful not to touch her with the lower half of his body, as he was still trying to gain control over the hard-on Rose had given him.

“Hey, Doctor, you too,” said Clara, returning his smile.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“Yeah, I thought you were living with Matt?” said Rose.

“Well....” Clara removed her gloves, scarf, and coat as she talked, slowly building into a Clara-rant. “It’s sort of weird. I don’t completely understand it... Matt suddenly told me that he needed me to stay with a friend for a little while and it was very important. And I _could_ stay with Amy, but eventually the hospital staff would make me go home, and I can’t stay with Rory, that would just be weird, so you were my only other option. You did say I could come stay with you before, and I thought you might need some help planning your wedding.”

“Oh, God,” muttered Rose with sudden dread.

Clara continued, having missed what her friend had uttered. “I mean, you helped me SO much with mine before Adam left me, and I know all about wedding plans! Can you imagine? We can go dress shopping and try out cakes and look at flowers, it’ll be so much fun!”

Quickly, Rose placed a hand on Clara’s back, ushering her toward the hall and the kitchen. “Clara, you must be freezing!” she said, a little loudly. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and make yourself... something. Tea! Yes, go put on the kettle, won’t you? We could all do with a nice cuppa.”

“Okay...” Clara gamely headed off in the right direction, while Rose turned to the Doctor, her eyes wide with panic.

“Doctor, she’s here to plan our wedding!” she whispered.

“Well, that’s nice of her,” he said.

“No, you _don’t_ understand.” Rose took a breath. “CLARA. Is here. To plan. OUR WEDDING.”

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Heard that part.”

“It’s Clara!” said Rose. “You haven’t SEEN her plan a wedding. I HAVE. I’ve BEEN there.” She shivered. “It’s scary!”

“Oh, my God!” said Clara, from the kitchen. “I’ve never seen so much meat in my life! Did you kill a cow?”

“Hey, she just described our weekends,” said the Doctor, grinning.

Rose frowned, frustrated that he was clearly not understanding the urgency. “Arsehole, Clara CANNOT plan our wedding. I refuse to go through this with her AGAIN. Plus, mum and dad. How are we going to explain them?”

The Doctor pulled at his left ear. “Well, Rose,” he said, slowly. “Maybe it’s time to let Clara in on the secret.”

Her eyes bugged. “What? Do you have any idea what that would do to her fragile little mind?”

“I’m more concerned with what seeing your dead parents would do to her fragile little mind,” he said. “Think about this. Harry kidnapped and nearly killed her, if not for us. She’s going to start asking us questions about that night soon enough.”

Rose sighed. “I know you’re right, but...”

“Of course I’m right,” he said, with a smug smile. “I’m the alpha.”

Rose pursed her lips, utterly done with his attitude. She poked him in the chest with one finger. “All right, PRAT. You want to let her in? FINE. Then YOU can tell her. After all, you’re so GOOD with women.”

“I’m good with you,” he said. His eyes slid down her body again and his voice dropped an octave. “God, I want to be so good TO you...”

“Ohhh, no, Mr. Alpha-I-Know-Everything,” she said, pushing him away. “Since you are apparently the master of telling people difficult truths, I would LOVE to see you break this news to the champion over-reaction queen!”

“So, I take it we’re not going to shag?” he asked with a teasing grin, apparently finding the situation hilarious. Rose just growled at him angrily and he put his hands up. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going!”

They both walked into the kitchen to find Clara rifling through the pantry. Rose stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it, while the Doctor approached Clara.

“You said there was tea in here somewhere?” she asked.

“I’m sure it’s in there,” said the Doctor, not really sure at all. Rose usually made the tea.

Clara continued to talk as she moved things around in the pantry. “I want you to know that I am so happy for you and Rose! I mean, I have never seen her as happy as when she’s with you. That night at the party, she just looked so radiant and--”

“Right!” the Doctor interrupted, seeing his opening. “That night at the party. I bet you have tons of questions. And I think you deserve to have them answered. So, you just ask away. Any question.” He waited. “Anything at all...” He leaned closer to the pantry, in case she couldn’t hear him. “Ask away.” He lifted an eyebrow at Clara’s continued silence. “Anything?”

“Have you rented your tux yet?”

He blinked. “What?”

Clara emerged from the pantry, looking at him expectantly. “Your tux. Have you rented it yet? You do realize your wedding is in two months, right? Because these things need to be done waaaay in advance. Please tell me you’ve at least looked at cake designs.”

“Well, we were thinking of just getting a cake from Tesco’s,” he said.

Clara gasped, scandalized.

“What?” he asked. Rose just laughed from her position at the door.

“A... cake... from... Tesco’s?” Clara repeated, hardly able to believe it.

He nodded. “Yeah, you know, a regular sheet cake from the refrigerated section.”

Clara stumbled a bit, leaning heavily on a nearby wall. She looked up at her friend. “Rose,” she said in a weak voice. “Please tell me... you’ve decided on a dress.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Rose. “Long time ago.”

Clara sighed with relief. “Oh, good...”

“I’ve got a little cocktail thing in the back of my closet.”

“WHAAAT?” cried Clara. “A cocktail dress? For your WEDDING?”

“Sure,” said Rose, clearly goading her friend. “I’ve only worn it a couple of times. I really don’t see the purpose in buying an expensive dress for the sole purpose of only wearing it once. Besides, I look better in black.”

Just as Rose hoped, the Clara-rant began. “Oh, my God... Oh, my GOD!” She began pacing back and forth through the kitchen, wildly gesticulating. “I cannot BELIEVE you two! No tux, sheet cake, and a cocktail dress?! I’m not even sure I can handle hearing the rest of these so-called plans! Thank GOODNESS I’m here to help you!”

“Yes, but Clara--” the Doctor began, but Clara mowed right over him.

“You just don’t _understand_ the importance of your wedding day!” Clara said. “It’s something you only get to go through once! Well, once, if you’re lucky...”

“No, trust me,” said the Doctor, smiling over at Rose. “Just once.”

“Well, you’ve got the devotion part covered,” said Clara. She clapped her hands together. “Don’t worry! Starting tomorrow, I’ll get everything taken care of. Do you think they’ll have the right kind of flowers available in two months? I mean, it is still winter.”

“Listen,” said the Doctor, “I think--”

“Of course,” Clara went on, “you’ve got to think about matching the flowers to the decor. Were you planning on having the wedding at a chapel or doing the whole thing here? Personally, I think having a wedding and reception in your backyard can be a little stressful, not to mention cold.”

“--we really wanted to talk about--” he tried again, to no avail.

“And I doubt the house would be large enough for all the guests,” said Clara, not even paying him any attention. “So, a chapel it is. We’ll have to go look at some local venues. One with a hall for the reception. Oh, you probably haven’t even sent out the invitations yet! How many were you thinking of inviting? We should probably try to keep it under two hundred, for convenience’s sake...”

“Save me!” the Doctor whispered to Rose.

She laughed. “Not as easy as you thought, huh?”

* * *

Clara paced back and forth as she ranted on her mobile phone. She had been making calls all day, currently she was talking to one of a long list of people who rented out halls for weddings and receptions. Rose and the Doctor sat at a table nearby, pouring candy conversation hearts into plastic champagne glasses and wrapping them up in tulle. Clara had them overnighted from her storage unit, courtesy of Rory.

“It’s been five minutes,” said Rose. “Do you want to try telling her again?”

“Every time I try, she gets back on the phone,” said the Doctor.

“You may as well let her finish the call.”

“Now explain to me the reason behind wedding favors?” he said, holding one up by it’s red ribboned bow.

“Clara says we have to have some way of showing we’re grateful for the blenders, crock pots, and toasters we’re going to get.”

“They’re getting a free meal,” the Doctor pointed out.

“Well, that’s _obviously_ not enough,” said Rose, sarcastically.

“Yeah, but... why _these_ favors, specifically?” he asked, wrinkling his nose as he looked at the ones they’d completed, standing in a row like pathetically crafty soldiers. He tossed one of the pieces of candy in his mouth.

“Clara and these favors go way back.”

He spat the candy out and wiped at his tongue. “Is that why they taste like chalk?”

“Clara,” called Rose. “Are these the SAME conversation hearts you had for your wedding to Adam?”

Clara muffled the phone with her hand. “I don’t have time to order you new ones,” she said, quietly. “If we had a few more months, then maybe--” She cut herself off mid-sentence, going back to ranting at the person on the other line.

The Doctor pulled his glasses from his jacket pocket and perched them on his nose as he looked more closely at a candy heart. “So, that’s why some of them say _C + A 4ever?”_

“Yeah, you can eat those,” said Rose. “They’ll turn your tongue bright pink.”

Having already sampled them, the Doctor made a face. “Blech.” He picked up another piece, frowning at it. “This one says ‘fax me.’ Who faxes anymore?”

Rose laughed lightly and leaned over to give him a kiss. “You’re so cute when you’re frustrated.”

He huffed, removing his glasses and sticking them back in his jacket. “It’s like she’s avoiding the issue on purpose!”

“She might be,” said Rose. “It’s classic Clara.”

“She doesn’t even know what the issue IS!” he said. “I’m not sure I LIKE classic Clara.”

“Oh,” said Rose, deliberately needling him. “Would you feel more comfortable if you went into the kitchen, got some food, and brought it to her?”

The Doctor’s frustration culminated in a loud outburst as he threw the candy down on the table. He stood up. “I’m sick of this!”

At that moment, Clara hung up the phone. “Ugh! Those people are so stubborn! I don’t see a reason why they can’t move the funeral to next week. It’s not like Mrs. Stravinski is GOING anywhere!” She sighed. “Bottom line, the hall isn’t available the day of the wedding. I’ve sent emails to all the other local places and no dice. We’re probably going to have to consider moving the whole thing here. But I’ve got some ideas... If you get married at the top of the stairs and move out all the furniture from down here, it might be possible to--”

“Clara,” the Doctor interrupted. “There’s only going to be about twenty people, it should be fine.”

Clara laughed. “Twenty people? I sent out about two hundred invitations!”

“You WHAT?” he exclaimed. “To whom?”

“The people in your address books,” Clara said. “I had to call your cousin Mary because you didn’t have her address. Of course, most of the invitations had to be sent through email, but I know how to get through that. Oh!” She perked up as a thought occurred to her. “By the way, your parents have already RSPVed, Doctor.”

The Doctor bristled. “You invited... my parents?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t... talked to my parents... in over fifteen years,” he stuttered.

“Well, they’re flying out here for the wedding. They’ll probably have to stay here because of stupid, dead Mrs. Stravinski...”

The Doctor stalked toward Clara, covering the distance in only a few graceful strides. “You’re supposed to be her best friend,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “How could you NOT KNOW that she likes pink?”

Clara looked up at him, startled. “Mrs. Stravinski? I’ve never even met her!”

“No! _Rose!_ Rose likes pink, you-- UGH!” He growled at her, finally letting off the steam that had been building all day. “You are _insane!_ What is the DEAL with these wedding favors? Nobody likes eating Tums at a wedding! We don’t need carnations dyed the same lavender as the bridesmaids’ dresses! We DON’T need a cake with raspberry filling that costs eight hundred pounds! If you’d paid attention for TWO MINUTES, you’d know, among other things, that I’M ALLERGIC TO RASPBERRIES! Listen up, Clara, it’s the same in French: NON means NO!”

Clara was emitting a high-pitched squeal, her face crumpling up. Rose straightened in her chair, knowing what that meant. She reached out to the Doctor in an attempt to stop him. “Oh, no... Doctor, calm down...”

“Calm down? Calm DOWN?” he raved. “She invited MY PARENTS! Remember THEM? You do NOT want the woman who named her only son THETA and my step-father at our wedding! God, we should have just left Clara there in the desert in that ridiculous ball gown!”

At that, Clara ran out of the room, sobbing. Rose sighed, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “Feel better?” she asked.

“Not enough,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Well, that’s too bad.” She sighed. “Why don’t you go outside and--” She looked off in the direction Clara had gone. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know... The garage, maybe.”

“The garage?” Rose leapt to her feet. “SHIT, the car!”

Through the walls separating them, a wail of terror reached their ears. The Doctor made to go after her. “I’ll go explain--”

“No,” said Rose, holding up a hand. “You’ve done enough _explaining_ today.” She started out of the room at a jog. “She should hear it from me anyway.”

She hurried to the door leading from the house to the garage, tentatively opening it and sticking her head through. From somewhere inside the dim room that housed the midnight blue Camaro and the washer-dryer, Clara was sobbing and gibbering like a lunatic. With a sigh, Rose stepped inside and closed the door. She pulled the chain for the overhead light, revealing her friend huddled in a corner.

“Clara, calm down,” said Rose, quietly, reaching out her hands in a placating gesture.

Clara pointed at the Camaro with a shaking hand. “Rose! That car! It’s the same one that--”

“Calm down,” Rose repeated. “Harry’s not here. He can’t hurt you.”

“Then why is his car here?”

“It’s not his car.” Rose knelt down before Clara.

“I’m not stupid, Rose! I KNOW what car I got into that night!”

“It’s not Harry’s car anymore. It belongs to the Doctor.”

Clara took a few gasping breaths, looking from the car to her friend. “I don’t understand.”

Rose offered her a small smile. “Look, you deserve answers, Clara. But thus far, you’ve avoided asking the questions. I could tell you everything, but I need to know first... Are you ready to hear it?”

Clara bit her bottom lip. “I... I’m not sure.”

“That’s what I thought.” Rose shifted and sat down beside her friend. “You and I need to have a serious discussion. About the way the world actually works.”

* * *

The Doctor was outside, a lit cigarette between his lips, when Pete and Jackie came up the drive in their car. The collar of his long tan coat was up against the wind and light snow that was falling.

“Welcome back,” he said, as they climbed out of the car.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” said Pete.

“I don’t,” said the Doctor. “But have you ever had a day so bad that you just NEED a cigarette?”

“Try being an ex-smoker and having a day like that,” said Jackie. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Clara Oswald showed up yesterday,” said the Doctor.

“Clara?” said Jackie. “God, I haven’t seen her since she was--” She made a gesture indicating how small Clara had been.

“Since your fake death?” said the Doctor and Jackie paled slightly. “Yeah.”

“Oh, dear,” said Jackie.

“That could present a problem or two,” said Pete.

“Have you told her... anything?” asked Jackie.

“Tried to,” said the Doctor. “She resolutely flung herself into planning the wedding and has ignored all attempts at truth or sanity.”

“Well, what should we do?” asked Pete.

“What are you looking at _me_ for?” asked the Doctor.

Pete laughed. “Really? Really, Theta?”

The Doctor covered his face with one hand as he realized what he’d said. “Oh, God, I hate this.” He pointed at Pete, frowning. “And you’re the ONLY one who still gets to call me that, old man.”

“Not so easy being in charge, is it, bugalugs?” asked Pete, clearly still amused.

“Don’t push it,” said the Doctor. “Rose is talking to her now. With any luck, we’ll get through this with minimal bloodshed.”

* * *

Back in the garage, Clara was focusing on keeping her breathing slow and even. Rose had just told her quite a bit that she was still having difficulty believing. Rose had offered to prove it to her, but Clara had hurriedly turned her down. She didn’t think she could handle seeing her friend turn into a wild animal.

“So, you’re... you’re...” She breathed a frustrated sigh. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it doesn’t,” said Rose. “But it’s true.”

“Well... Does that mean everything ELSE exists, too? Vampires, witches, Harry Potter?”

“I don’t know, yes, and really? Harry Potter?”

Clara shrugged. “You’re the mythical being here!”

“It’s not mythical! Jeez, Clara...” Rose dragged a hand through her hair, a trait she was picking up from the Doctor. “We’re just normal people, living normal lives... ish. This isn’t a kids’ story. But not everything can be explained by science, logic, or ‘the way things work for everyone else.’ Haven’t you ever had something happen to you that you just can’t explain?”

“Well...” She thought back to the last time she was Miss C. “Actually, yes.”

“Really?” asked Rose, honestly surprised.

“Yeah. I was once... transported across town in a few seconds.”

“Wow,” said Rose. “Well, see?”

“I... try not to think about it too much,” said Clara, looking at the floor of the garage.

Rose sighed. “Clara, you’re one of my best friends. I’m telling you this because I need you to know. For once, this is not me trying to mess with you. I need you to try and attempt to accept me... us, me and the Doctor... for who we are. And being who we are doesn’t change who I’ve been all these years. I’m still me. Well, actually, I’m improved. Like, Rose two point oh.” She smiled. “Come on, give me a laugh or something, let me know you’re still with me.”

Clara gave a shaky laugh and then took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m... starting to understand... a little.” Her brows drew together. “And that scares me.”

“Breathe.”

Clara did, closing her eyes briefly.

“Any other questions?” asked Rose.

Clara shook her head. “Not... right now. Later. I’ll ask you for more later. But... I kind of want to stay in my bubble for now.”

“You’ve been in that bubble for a long time, Clara,” said Rose.

“I know... Slowly, all right?”

Rose nodded. “Okay.”

“Right now, I just want to concentrate on your wedding.”

Rose grimaced. “Yeah... about that.”

Clara slumped against the wall. “Oh, God. I’ve been doing the insane psycho-bride thing again, haven’t I?”

“A little,” said Rose, being kind. “And you’re not even the bride.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You just need to back off the barmy train a little. We really didn’t want this to turn into a big grandiose affair. We wanted something small, intimate...”

“But the invitations...”

Rose patted Clara’s shoulder. “We’ll handle that. Don’t worry. Half my family hates me and won’t show up. And most of the emails in the Doctor’s book are to people too far away to come. It’ll work out.” Rose paused. “This wasn’t about planning a wedding, was it?” she asked, gently, but seriously.

“No,” Clara finally admitted.

“Why, Clara?”

Clara sniffled and ran her nose across her sleeve. “I guess... I just got worried about Matt, since he just suddenly decided to ship me up here, and I didn’t know if maybe I’d done something wrong.” She fidgeted with her hands. “Plus... I was going to be the first one married and then Adam wrecked the whole thing, and now you’re marrying the Doctor...”

Rose held up a hand to stop her. “Okay, first, nothing is going to happen with you and Matt. You know why? Because you are pukey-cute together. God, if I see one more picture of the two of you coming out of PinkBerry, I swear I’m going to shoot myself in the head. What the hell IS PinkBerry, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s really cool, it’s frozen yogurt and they mix in fresh fruit, it’s kind of like--”

“Yeah. Rhetorical, okay, Clara?”

Clara grinned. “You’re being mean to me again,” she said, happily.

“That’s how we roll, right?” said Rose, smiling back. “And second... are you _really_ that upset that you’re not getting married before me?”

“No,” said Clara, shaking her head. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Good,” said Rose. “Then get over yourself. Or else the Doctor might have to... I don’t know...”

Clara giggled. “Huff and puff and--”

“You went there,” said Rose. “I don’t believe it.”

There was a knock at the door to the house and both girls stood up from the floor.

“Hello?” said Jackie through the door. “Anyone in there?”

Clara eyes bugged. “Oh, my God, that sounds like--”

“Oh, yeah,” said Rose. “Real quick, my parents? Not dead.”

“What?”

“Want me to explain?”

“Uh, no,” said Clara, instantly. She indicated an imaginary space around herself. “Bubble.”

Jackie poked her head inside the garage. “Can I come in? Or will someone faint?”

“Jackie!” cried Clara, running over to the woman and hugging her tightly. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“Ah, Clara,” said Jackie, fondly. “We should make biscuits later.”

Clara gasped in delight. “The ones with three kinds of chocolate?”

“We may need to run to the grocer’s first,” said Jackie. “Unless you’re fond of meat biscuits.”

“You know, the Doctor would eat that,” said Rose and all three of them laughed.

* * *

The Doctor kissed Rose with delicious roughness, his tongue twisting and diving into her mouth. He rolled them so that she was on her back, her naked body stretched out under him, tangling their legs in the sheets of their bed. Rose’s hands searched his body, fingertips hungry for the texture of his smooth, freckled skin, his legs rough with wiry hair, his back rippled with hard muscle. She breathed deeply as he kissed her, inhaling his scent, crisp and masculine, almost like cinnamon.

He pushed her thighs apart and settled between them, and she felt the hard, heavy pressure of him at the entrance to her body. Cradling her in his arms, he thrust forward, and she writhed, gasping at the pleasure of being stretched by him. His mouth traveled to her breasts, lips covering the taut peaks, sucking and stroking. Her fingers dove into his wild hair, holding him closer, as he began to find their rhythm, increasing the depth of his thrusts with each inward motion. Each movement was glorious, deliberate, yet exquisitely out of control.

Rose wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles at the small of his back. As he continued to move, his face against her neck, waves of sensation began to flow through her, and her mind went blank, suddenly suspended in the white-hot center of intense pleasure. A violent tremor shook the Doctor, and he went rigid, releasing a groan from between his clenched teeth. He held her tight, then relaxed, his passion spent. Rose went limp in his arms.

Breathing hard, he held Rose’s body close to him and rolled to the side to keep from crushing her under his weight. She snuggled up next to him and he touched his lips to her damp forehead.

“Mmm...” she moaned, happily content. “Feel better?”

The Doctor sighed. _“Loads_ better.”

“Good. Hopefully now, you won’t be a dick to my friend anymore,” she said, playfully.

“Definitely not,” he said. “I’ll only ever be a dick to you.” He rolled his hips against hers and nipped at her shoulder. Rose giggled and tried to get away, but he only held her tighter, his fingers dancing across her sensitive skin.

“Stop that!” she squealed as he found all her ticklish places.

Eventually, he stopped, only to kiss her soundly. “All right, I suppose I’ll be nice,” he said.

“Arse.”

“Love you, too,” he said. “By the way, I don’t think I said thank you for handling Clara so well.” Rose shrugged, as though it weren’t a big deal, but he persisted. “No, really. I’m impressed. How did you get her calm down and just... accept?”

“I’ve dealt with Clara a lot, I guess I’m just used to it. Plus, I think she was surprised by the fact that I’ve been nice to her for the past two days.”

“Another amazing feat,” he said.

A mobile began ringing and they groaned as one, despairing of leaving their cosy nest of blankets to find it.

“Hold on,” said Rose, furrowing her brow. “That’s not your ringtone.”

“Not yours, either,” he said. The Doctor climbed out of bed and followed the sound to the leather jacket Rose had on earlier. He fished the ringing mobile out of the pocket. “It must have been Harry’s.”

“Well, who is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The caller ID just says ‘Bitch.’” He pressed the receive button and put the mobile to his ear. “Hello?”

“Who is this?” a woman asked.

“Who is _this?”_ he returned.

“I’m looking for Harry,” she said, irritated.

“Harry is unavailable right now,” said the Doctor.

“Well, MAKE him available. Tell him that Reinette Poisson is on the phone.”

“Reinette?” he repeated.

Rose sat up in the bed, growling. “Hang up on her!”

“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor in a hard voice. “But Harry is not going to be able to call you ever again. Don’t call anymore. Lose this number.”

* * *

On the other end of the line, Reinette stared at the phone in her hand, which was giving off a dial tone. The bastard had hung up on her! With a frustrated noise, she slammed the phone down in the cradle. She paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

“I can get past this,” she said to herself. “If Harry’s gone... I’ll just find the others. They can’t be that hard to find.”

* * *

The Doctor set the mobile on the nightstand after turning it off. He would throw it away later. At the moment, all he was concerned with was getting back into bed with his warm, naked fiancee.

“I wonder what she wanted Harry for,” he mused, pulling the sheets up around them.

“Who cares?” said Rose, sourly. “I don’t want to think about that bitch right now, we’ve had enough weirdness, courtesy of Reinette Poisson. Let’s just forget about it. We’re getting married! It’s about _us_ right now.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, spooning up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him, her bum fitting snugly against his front. “I think I have a few ideas on how to take your mind off her...” He growled low against her ear.

Rose pulled away from him. “Nope. No, sorry, I’ve decided we should save ourselves for the wedding night.”

His mouth fell open in shock, until he saw the sparkle in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at him. His grin was predatory. “Horseshit.”

He tackled her as she giggled, playfully wrestling around in the bed, just another form of foreplay for them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is NSFW.

Amy paced the indeterminate length of the white room, the edges of the white walls going a bit blurry, not quite delineating where the corners were. The therapist’s head went back and forth, following Amy as she passed, her hands primly folded in her lap. Amy pulled at her red hair, still long and beautiful here in the ether, while the projection up on the wall showed her body in the hospital, with her hair cut short. She couldn’t seem to calm down since hearing that her aunt was only giving her two days to come out of the coma before pulling the plug.

“Unplugged?” she shouted. “I am NOT a classic rock guitarist! I don’t want to be unplugged.”

Ever the calm one, the therapist pointed out, “I don’t think shouting will help. Unless, of course, it makes you feel better.”

“No, I don’t feel better,” said Amy, tersely. “I’m about to die! My aunt Sharon is about to pull the plug on my comatose body!”

“There’s still time.”

Amy turned on the woman, furiously. “Time? Oh, yes, ‘all the time I need,’ right? Well _apparently,_ that’s not exactly true, is it? I can take all the time I want, I just might DIE in the PROCESS.”

“How do you know this isn’t all the time you needed?”

“Well, then I wouldn’t BE here anymore, would I?”

The therapist shrugged. “It really is up to you, whether you go back or not. But you keep focusing on ‘getting back’ as your goal.”

 _“Isn’t_ that the goal here?” asked Amy.

“Not necessarily,” said the therapist. “You’re here to talk about what you want to tell me.”

“But I’ve told you everything!” said Amy, spreading her arms wide to encompass all they’d talked about. “My hopes, my dreams, my fears, everything! What more do you want from me?”

“What do you _want_ to tell me, Amy?” the therapist pressed. “What do you _want_ to say?”

* * *

Elton turned the page of the newspaper from his seat next to Amy’s bedside. “And in the business section... Oh, this should be interesting for you, Matthew Grayson Ellef is suing Reinette Poisson for unlawful use of his name outside of contract. Poisson was thereupon dismissed from her position with Gallifrey Advertising.” He looked over at Amy. “Anything? Amy?” He sighed, crumpling the newspaper as he set it on the floor. “Amy, please wake up or give some sign that you can hear me. I don’t want to scare you or anything, but your aunt’s going to be here soon and she’s going to unplug you.”

The door to the room opened and Rory entered with a cup of hospital coffee in his hand, heaving a frustrated sigh. “Talking to Doctor Jones is getting me nowhere.”

“You really ought to get some sleep, Rory,” said Elton, giving the other man a worried look.

“I had about forty-five minutes on the plane, I’m fine,” Rory insisted, pulling a chair close to the bedside.

“I thought you said you couldn’t sleep,” said Elton.

“Forget what I said. I’m FINE.” He sat heavily in the chair, running a hand through his hair. “Amy is my priority right now.” He took her hand in his. “Amy? I know you can hear me.” He glanced at Elton. “Has she moved or... anything?”

“Well, her eyes did that fluttery thing and... I think her foot twitched. You think that could be a sign?” asked Elton.

“No, those are ‘involuntary muscle spasms,’” Rory said, imitating the doctor’s voice. “I already checked.”

Elton looked uncomfortable. “Maybe you... should start saying goodbye?”

Rory’s gaze snapped to Elton. “There’s no reason to say goodbye! She’s alive!”

“I’m just saying!” said Elton, holding up his hands defensively. “Look, her aunt’s going to be here any minute. Would you rather do this while you know she can hear you or...?”

“I know you’re just trying to help...” Rory sighed. “But I can’t give up hope.”

“Rory,” said Elton, gently. “There _is_ a distinct possibility that she’s gone.”

“Would you leave me alone for a minute?” he snapped.

“Are you sure?” asked Elton, already standing up from his chair.

“I’m sure that I will punch you in the face if you don’t,” said Rory through clenched teeth.

“Okay.” Elton went to the door. “Sorry,” he said, quietly, before leaving Amy and Rory alone.

Rory sighed as he turned his gaze back to Amy. “This sucks. And this place sucks. The hospital coffee? You’re not missing much. One part lead to two parts kryptonite.” He sipped some, just for the caffeine to keep himself awake, and grimaced. “Blech.” He set the cup back down. “All right... There are some things you should know. So it’s not a shock when you wake up. First, this look is not working for you. You’re really pale. I mean, you were snowy-creamy before, but now you’re all ashy. And you’ve lost a lot of weight. Not in a nice toned way, though, more like an ‘I’ve been living on an IV’ type way. Well, because you have. So, you’ve got an excuse.

“And last... you’re going to hate this part... Your hair’s been cut. I understand why they did it, it’s something that happens to most coma patients. And I still think you look cute, but you’ll hate it. So, when you wake up, we’ll... I don’t know... girly it up with some barrettes or something. Because you might get mistaken for a lesbian. A really _cute_ lesbian. And it’ll grow back. We can wait for that.”

He sat forward in his chair, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “But see, we can’t wait right now. In a few minutes, your aunt is going to walk through that door and turn off everything that’s making sure you stay alive. So, I need you to wake up. Or do something that lets everyone know that you are still in there.”

He leaned his forehead against her hand, her skin feeling slightly cooler. “I need you in my life, Amy. I don’t want to go back to thinking that just existing was good enough for me. Since the moment I met you, I’ve laughed every day, something has been funny or dumb or ridiculous, and I’ve smiled more often when I’m with you than I have in my whole life. You made me see that the world doesn’t have to suck.”

He took a deep breath, moving her hand to his cheek, holding her fingers around his jaw, just to feel the pressure of it. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “I love you. Don’t let your aunt take you away from me. Move your hand, open your eyes, say something! You’ve got a ton to look forward to! Since Reinette was fired, the execs want to promote you. They’ve also offered me my old junior position back. Oh yeah, this is important... You kind of lost your apartment. Really sorry about that. There’s been a lot going on. But, I moved all your stuff to my house. Except your couch. That, uh... Yeah, that didn’t make it.”

The door to the room opened and Rory lifted his head to see Sharon, Doctor Jones, and her nurse enter the room. “Are you Rory Williams?” asked Sharon.

“That’s me,” he said, standing up and straightening his jacket out of habit. “Nice to meet you, face to face, Ms. Pond.”

“Please. Sharon.” She glanced over at Amy, then back to him. “Have you... finished saying goodbye?”

“Finished?” he asked. “There isn’t enough time in the world.”

“I... understand,” she said. “But the doctors are here to do their job, we should probably leave the room.”

“If you can’t give me anymore time, at least let me have the time that’s left,” said Rory.

Sharon sighed. “It’s fine with me. But I can’t stay in here and watch them-- To see her--” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned to leave. “I’ll be outside with the boys from the college.”

Meanwhile, in the white room, Amy fairly crackled with fury as her green eyes shot angry sparks at the woman sitting in front of her, endlessly calm. She was so furious, she didn’t even quite realize that she finally understood the woman’s identity, even as she spewed forth the venom she’d been holding in for years.

“You want to know what I’ve _always_ wanted to say?” said Amy. “I want to say that I’m angry, no... I am so far past angry. I’m utterly enraged by you! This is all your fault! You have the power to send me back and you DON’T. This is always the way with you, isn’t it? What, is this funny for you or something? You have the power to help people. You dangle happiness above our heads, just out of our reach, then you move it out of the way just as we jump for it, like some twisted, psychotic piñata!”

The therapist nodded, an odd little smile on her face. “Good,” she said, impressed by Amy’s fervor.

“Good?” repeated Amy, incredulously. “What are you ON? You have been piddling on me every day since I was born! Not just me, but my family, my friends, anybody who’s worth a damn in my life! And for what? So people like Reinette Bloody Poisson can get ahead? It’s BOLLOCKS! Some of us need a break from your constant cosmic shit storm! Cut it the fuck out!”

“Are you done?” asked the therapist.

“No!” yelled Amy. “What I’ve said doesn’t even begin to cover my frustration!” She lowered her voice, but her calm fury was equally frightening. “You took my dad. When I needed him, you TOOK him.” Her voice broke on the last sentence, but Amy recovered her strength quickly. “I have never understood why. There was no reason for it. You continuously put objects in my path and NOW... You’re KILLING me. And why? So you can hear me say ‘I’m angry?’ Fine! You have really made me _bealin!_ Now, put me BACK, you sadistic omnipotent BITCH!”

In the hospital room, the doctor and nurse finished turning off all of the equipment and, a moment later, Amy’s heart monitor flat-lined. Rory closed his eyes and tears ran down his face. Doctor Jones picked up the chart with a sad sigh.

“I’m going to call time of death at 3:47pm.” She looked at the broken man in the room with sympathy and motioned for the nurse to follow her out. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I’m truly sorry.”

The door closed behind them. Rory moved back to Amy’s side, placing his hands on the metal rails along the edge of the bed.

“I put all your clothes in my closet,” he said, slowly, quietly. “All your dishes in the kitchen. I put your desk next to mine in the front room. You’re all moved in.” He took her hand in his, still warm. “I can’t say goodbye to you, because you’ve moved in. Into my house, my life. Please, Amy, don’t make me say goodbye.”

Leaning down, he gently kissed the corner of her mouth.

In the white room, the therapist shuffled her paperwork. “I think we’ve made a lot of progress,” she said, amicably.

“What?” asked Amy.

“Oh, look at the time,” said the therapist, though she didn’t check a watch of any kind. “I think our session’s about over.”

The whiteness of the room seemed to be getting brighter to Amy, causing her to squint. “Will we... ever do this again?” she asked.

The therapist laughed, but the sound seemed to come from far away, obscured and wavering. “Everyone has an appointment, eventually.” The whiteness overtook Amy’s vision, making her close her eyes. “It was nice to meet you, Amy!”

There was a rushing sound in Amy’s ears, a sensation of falling, and then--

In the hospital room, the heart monitor bleeped back into life and Amy in the hospital bed began choking violently on the breathing tube in her throat. Rory’s head shot up.

“Amy?” He rushed to the door, calling for the doctor. “She’s choking! Somebody get in here now!”

Doctor Jones and her nurse moved like women possessed. “Remove the breathing tube!”

Sharon was holding herself up against a nearby wall, shaking. “Oh, my God... thank you...”

“Everyone out,” said Doctor Jones as the nurse worked on Amy. “We need to make sure she’s stable.” She leveled a look at Rory. “That means you, too, Mr. Williams.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, definitively.

“Go get some sleep, or I’ll have you sedated.” The expression on Doctor Jones’ face told him she wasn’t kidding. “Don’t worry, she’s out of the coma now. But it must have been one hell of a fight. We’ll make sure she stays with us.”

Rory sighed, gratefully. “Thank you.”

* * *

In the Bothal house, Rose and Clara were busily following Jackie’s recipe for triple chocolate biscuits when Clara’s red mobile on the counter rang. Hurriedly rinsing the dough off her hands, she picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi... Is this Clara Oswald?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh, good. My name is Elton, I’m a friend of Amy and Rory’s. We met once at Gallifrey and we saw each other a couple times at the hospital.”

“I think I remember you.” Sudden trepidation swept through her as she realized that he was probably calling about Amy. “Any news?”

“Yes. Rory would have called himself, but he’s asleep right now.”

“Okay... And?”

“She’s awake.”

Clara’s heart jumped up into her throat. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, well, she’s asleep, but she’s not in a coma anymore. It’s not the same thing...”

“Oh, my God!” Clara exclaimed and hung up on him. She turned to Rose, overcome with emotion. “Rose!”

“What?” she asked.

Clara flapped her hands, unable to get the words out. “Oh, my God, Rose!”

Rose put her hands on her hips. “Clara, tell me what’s going on right now, or I’ll bite you! You remember that, it’s not pleasant!”

“She’s awake!” she finally managed.

Rose’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my God!” The girls grabbed each other’s hands, squealing with happiness. “I have to tell the Doctor!”

At the same time, Clara said, “I have to tell Matt!”

Rose raced out of the kitchen to go upstairs while Clara speed-dialed her boyfriend.

* * *

The Doctor opened the front door the next day. A movie star stood on the stoop with a suitcase. The Doctor’s eyes flicked down at the red bowtie the man was wearing for a brief second, then back up to his bright green eyes.

“Hi. I’m Matt.”

“Yeah, I know who you are, I don’t live under a rock.” He stepped back to allow him room. “Come on in.”

“Oh, good, then I do have the right house,” said Matt, dragging his luggage in behind him.

“Well, you might not,” said the Doctor as he closed the door. “I could be some crazed fan that you just happened to knock on the door of.”

“Are you?”

“Nah. Clara’s in the kitchen.” He gave Matt another once-over. “You look pretty good for someone who had an early morning flight.”

“Used to odd hours and early flights, I guess,” he said, pulling off his hat, gloves, and coat. “I was happy to hear about April, though.”

“Amy,” the Doctor corrected. “Me too. I’m the Doctor, by the way.”

“Not your real name?” asked Matt, hopefully. When the Doctor nodded, Matt pumped his fist happily. “I’ve got this thing...” he said in explanation, when he saw the odd look the other man was giving him. “I can’t remember real names. I had to tattoo Clara’s name on my wrist.”

“Hmm.” The Doctor gave Matt a thoughtful look. “Would you like to be able to remember it on your own?”

“How?”

“It’s easy.” The Doctor looked directly into Matt’s eyes. _“Your girlfriend’s name is Clara.”_

“Clara,” Matt repeated, dreamily. He shook himself, blinking a few times. “Clara.” His arms flung themselves into the air and he turned an odd kind of pirouette. “Clara! Her name is Clara!”

“Yes, it is,” said the Doctor, with an amused smile.

Matt continued to prance around the foyer. “I’m not even looking at my arm! Not Carrie, not Katie, no, no, no, her name is Clara!” He spun joyously as the Doctor laughed.

“Just hope you never break up with her, because you’ll probably call every girlfriend ‘Clara’ from now on,” he said.

“This is incredible!” Matt exclaimed. “I’ve never been able to remember anyone’s name, ever!”

Drawn by the sound of her boyfriend’s exuberant voice, Clara walked from the hall into the foyer, smiling when she saw Matt. His entire face lit up when she came into view and he practically ran to her side, folding her into his arms. He turned his face into her shoulder, breathing in the scent of fresh-baked biscuits. He pulled back, still holding her, to look down at her face, and relief suddenly washed over him to see with his own eyes that she was safe.

Leaning down, he kissed her, not caring that there was someone watching. She made a small sound of surprise, but leaned into it after a moment. He kissed her lips again and again, reveling in their sweet softness. “I have to tell you something,” he said against her mouth before sliding his kisses along her jaw to her ear. “When we’re alone, okay?” She nodded and he smiled.

“Look!” he cried, closing his eyes. “Your name... is Clara!” He opened his eyes and beamed down at her shocked expression.

“How did you remember that?” she asked. He gestured over at the Doctor.

“You really want me to answer that?” countered the Doctor.

“Uh... no,” said Clara. “Bubble. Okay.”

The Doctor nodded. “Well, nice to meet you, Matt. Your last film was craptacular.”

Matt reluctantly pulled away from Clara with a groan. “Yeah.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “You go by yourself?”

“No, Rose went with me, my fiancee.”

“Okay,” said Matt, rifling through the notes in the wallet. “So, about eleven pounds each... Plus, popcorn, soda... You look like a Junior Mints man, am I right?”

“Hey, you’re good.”

Matt pulled out a fifty pound note. “Think this would cover it?”

“I don’t know,” said the Doctor as he took the note, playing it for all it was worth. “It was a pretty crap night.”

“Tell you what,” said Matt. “I owe you a drink.”

“Done.” He folded the note and stuffed it into one of his many pockets.

Clara put her hand on Matt’s arm as he stuffed the wallet back in his trousers. “Matt, I keep telling you, you don’t need to refund everyone who’s seen your film.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t know that,” said Matt. “You didn’t sit through the whole thing.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. “It got worse?”

Rose emerged from the hallway and smiled at the pair of them. “So, this is MGE. Clara’s actor studmuffin. How’s it hanging, Romeo?”

“You must be Daisy!” said Matt, going to shake her hand.

“Wow, you ARE bad at that, aren’t you?” laughed Rose.

“Not really!” he said, happily, and pointed at Clara. “HER name is Clara!”

Rose looked from Matt to the Doctor and narrowed her eyes. “You cheated, didn’t you,” she said, not making it a question.

“Is it really cheating?” he asked.

She went to him and kissed him. Because he was there and it had been too long. He smiled against her lips, his arms coming around her waist.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Clara quietly made a squee-ing noise. “Aren’t they so cute?”

“And inspirational,” said Matt, leaning down to kiss her again.

“Get a room,” said Rose. “Speaking of, I should show you yours.”

“Thank you for giving us a place to stay,” said Matt. “You have no idea how important it is.”

“What was the big emergency, Matt?” asked Clara.

“It’s not a problem,” said the Doctor, “you’re just a bit early for the wedding. By a month. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No,” said Matt. “Bacon is my friend.”

“We’ll get along just fine,” said the Doctor.

“I should probably explain.” Matt glanced at Clara. “We need to talk.”

“No good can come of this,” muttered Clara.

“Should we leave you alone?” asked Rose.

“No,” said Matt. “We’re hiding out here, you should be aware of what’s going on.”

“Hiding out?” repeated the Doctor.

Matt nodded. “Yeah. Why don’t we sit down.”

* * *

Amy braced herself with her arms as she sat up on the physical therapy table, grimacing with the effort. Her therapist, a cute young blonde with her hair in a ponytail and big hazel eyes that brimmed with encouragement, placed a large foam block behind her back so she could relax, then moved to the end of the table.

“Okay, Ms. Pond, try to resist when I push against your right foot,” she said. She took Amy’s foot in both hands and applied gentle pressure.

Screwing up her face with determination, Amy forced her weak muscles to push. “You are a very bad person, Jenny, and I am resisting your intent to push against my right foot,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Amy,” said Rory from his place near the door, gently chiding her, as he glanced up from a magazine.

“Come on,” said Amy. “I have to have some fun.”

“A good sense of humor actually helps patients get through this,” said Jenny.

“See?” said Amy. “Patients who are obstinate get the stick.”

Jenny laughed. “I can tell we’re going to have a fun time together.”

“How soon do you think she’ll be walking on her own again?” asked Rory.

“It depends a lot on Amy,” said Jenny.

“Will I be able to play the piano?” asked Amy.

Jenny grinned. “Careful with that joke, it’s an antique.”

Amy laughed then sighed as Jenny put her foot down and moved to the opposite one. “Okay, Rory,” she said, around a grunt of effort, “what did I miss?”

“You mean, in the months you were out?” he asked.

“Yep. Get me all caught up.”

“Wow... Uh... Well...” He thought for a moment, his mind, of course, going totally blank now that she’d asked. “The hospital had to cut your hair.”

Amy blew an irritated breath up at her short fringe. “Yeah. Noticed this have I. Pleased I am not.”

“Short hair makes you talk like Yoda?” asked Jenny.

“I swear,” said Amy, glaring, “if I could move my legs better, I would kick you right now.”

“Good motivation,” said Jenny, setting her foot down. “Relax your legs, let’s try some arm lifts.”

As Jenny began to spot Amy during the lifts, Rory continued, “You remember Rose and the Doctor.”

“NOOO,” said Amy, rolling her eyes. “Of course, you dingbat.”

“Well, they’re getting married.”

Amy’s eyes lit up. “Really? Aww... Rose is marrying my favorite waiter. I wonder if I’ll get my food for free now.”

“I doubt it. They’re living up North somewhere. Near... Sunderland?”

“Oh, Rose’s gran’s house.”

Rory shrugged. “I don’t know exactly where it is, but we’re invited. Of course, that’s only if we can get you in shape in time.”

Amy pressed her lips together and nodded, seeing the goal in her mind. “Come hell or high water, I will not miss this wedding!”

“Good, you’re one of the bridesmaids.”

“As expected.”

Rory cast about for another piece of news. “Clara is living with Matt now.”

“Matt?” Amy repeated. “Who’s he? Is he that bloke she was dating?”

“Yeah. Matthew... Grayson Ellef.”

Amy dropped the plastic ball she was holding. “THE ACTOR?” she exclaimed. “Super cute but really bad film? MGE? And CLARA? How long was I out again?”

“Almost two months,” said Rory. “Apparently, she’d been seeing him for a while.”

“BEHIND MY BACK,” Amy fumed. “How DARE she. I am SO going to kill her.” Jenny handed her back the ball and she groaned. “Right after I learn to hold this plastic ball. Can we switch hands yet?”

“Yes, go ahead,” Jenny instructed, moving to spot the other arm.

“What else?” Amy asked.

“Yeah... um...” Rory set the magazine down and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “About Matt...”

Jenny straightened up then. “Oh, I forgot... I’ll be right back. I need to get the things for your massage and hydro-therapy.” She moved to go into another room. “Drop the ball when holding it becomes too difficult,” she said before closing the door.

“What were you saying?” Amy asked Rory.

Rory looked away from her. “Reinette doesn’t work for Gallifrey anymore,” he said, avoiding the subject.

“I figured that out earlier today when a courier brought me promotion paperwork. What were you saying about Matt?”

Rory sighed, then got up and moved to her side at the therapy table. “There’s no easy way to do this.” He took the ball from her and she turned her full attention to him. “I’ve known Matt for a long time.” He glanced at the closed door to the room, then back at Amy. “That thing I haven’t been able to tell you... Well, I should tell you now.”

* * *

Three sets of brown eyes were staring at Matt and he looked down at the kitchen table, uncomfortably. Clara’s mouth was slightly open and the Doctor’s brows drew together ominously.

“Well... that’s different,” said Rose, finally, absolutely stunned.

“Oh, my God,” whispered Clara.

“You’re serious, Matt?” asked the Doctor, his voice like steel.

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” said Matt, his tone going soft in contrast.

“Rassilon? You’d better not. This is--”

“This is insane!” Clara exclaimed. She took a deep breath and placed her head on the table as she tried to be calm. Rose rubbed her back in soothing circles as the Doctor rose from his chair and began pacing the kitchen.

“You came here for a hiding place?” The Doctor pulled at his hair. “Do you realize the danger you’ve placed on us, on my pa--” He stopped, clearing his throat, as his eyes automatically went to Rose. She lifted an eyebrow at him, telling him without words to be careful. He looked back at Matt, who looked incredibly contrite. “I can understand wanting to protect Clara, and of course yourself. But you have to realize _my_ position here. You don’t fuck around with that kind of danger!”

Matt spread his hands, helplessly. “Honestly, I didn’t ask for any of this. Like I said, I’ve just found out myself. Rassilon knows where I live, I couldn’t leave Clara there. We were going to be here for the wedding anyway. Please,” he begged. “Let me use this time to find a new place for us.”

Rose looked over at the Doctor, her eyes full of sympathy. “Doctor, it can’t be easy for them to hide. He can’t walk down the street without someone recognizing him.”

One look at his mate and the Doctor sighed, knowing he’d do anything she asked. “Look,” he said to Matt. “While you’re here, you’re under my protection. We’ll figure something out together, all right? We know a thing or two about hiding in plain sight.” He sat back down next to Rose. “Rory and Amy should be coming up in a few weeks, pending Amy’s therapy. We’ll think about this more, then.” He pointed at Matt. “Tonight, though, you owe me that drink.”

Matt smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

Clara lifted her head. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” asked Matt.

“You’ll ‘figure this out’ and everything’s okay again?” said Clara, her tone climbing in pitch.

Rose’s eyes went wide, seeing where this was going a mile away. “Clara, it’s not that bad...”

The champion over-reaction queen leapt to her feet. “NOT that BAD?” she shrieked. “There is something WRONG with the world! First, my boyfriend sends me up North without telling me why, where I find out that my best friend and her family are ‘not normal,’ and THEN I find out that my boyfriend is _related_ to my other friend’s boyfriend and their grandfather is a notorious crime lord and AHHH!” Clara ran from the room, yelling.

Rose put her face in her hand. “That went well,” she muttered.

“What just happened?” asked Matt, his eyes wide with shock.

“Oh, nothing,” said Rose. “Clara just had her bubble popped.”

* * *

Rory watched Amy carefully, looking for any sign that his story had upset her. Mostly, she just sat in the hydro-therapy tub, her face slack and her eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked, finally.

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. “But I have to admit... That’s one doozy of a secret.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.” She scrunched up her nose. “Well, a little. I can understand why you didn’t tell me. I just wish you had.”

“I know,” he said. “I wanted to. But I wanted to protect you more, make sure you’d be safe.”

“I get it,” she said, waving a hand. “But I don’t have to like it.” She sighed lightly. “I suppose I’ll get used to it.” She smiled at him. “In the meantime, I could get used to _this._ A massage and jacuzzi treatment every other day...”

There was a knock at the door and Jenny entered with a smile. “Just about time to get out, Amy.”

Amy gasped over-dramatically. “You’ve seen me in my skinny white nakedness!”

Jenny giggled. “I helped you undress.”

“I have to kill you now.”

“Okay, you work on that,” said Jenny, moving to get the towels. “I am going to help your skinny nakedness out of the tub.”

Rory helped by gathering up Amy’s clothes and moving the wheelchair closer. With one hand, Jenny pulled an envelope out of her pocket, while helping to support Amy with her other arm as she dried off.

“By the way,” she said, handing the envelope to Rory. “A courier tried to deliver some flowers while you were in here. Obviously, we don’t allow that kind of thing during therapy, so it’s waiting for you at the desk.”

Rory opened the card. _Get well soon, Amy. ~RR_ His blood went cold.

“Who’s it from?” asked Amy, from under a towel as she rubbed at her hair.

“It’s, uh... generic get well card,” he said, trying not to sound like he was obviously lying. “From someone at work.” He scrambled for a name. “Betty.”

Amy emerged from the towel, furrowing her brow. “Do I know a Betty?”

“Not sure,” said Rory, turning away from her and crumpling the card. “You know, Clara’s been up at Rose’s, helping with the wedding plans.”

Amy cackled evilly. “That’s gotta be fun.”

“I was thinking,” he said, surreptitiously dropping the card in the bin near the door, “if we can get you stable relatively soon, we could go up there early, that way you wouldn’t have to be left out.”

“Are you kidding?” said Amy, pulling on her clothes with Jenny’s help. “I LOVE watching Clara drive Rose up the wall.” She looked at Jenny. “How do-able is it?”

Jenny bit her lip a bit, considering her patient. “Well, if we really push it, you might be able to travel in a couple of weeks. You’d still need the wheelchair and someone to work you through the exercises while you’re gone, though.”

“Easy-peezie,” said Amy, smiling. “Let’s do it!”

“Good,” said Rory, relief spreading through him. “And I’ll be there to help. All the time.”

“Don’t you need to go into work, Mr. Junior Exec?” asked Amy as Jenny helped to settle her into the wheelchair.

“I’m owed some vacation time,” he said. “I need to be with you.”

* * *

Matt knocked softly on the first door on the right in the upstairs hallway, where Rose had indicated his and Clara’s room was. He heard a muffled reply and took it to mean he could enter, gently easing the door open. He found Clara lying face down on the bed with her arms spread out on either side of her. He closed the door and paused for a moment, trying to think how he should continue. They were alone now, but after all he had said in the kitchen, he didn’t think she was ready to hear what he needed to tell her.

“How are you?” he finally asked, knowing it was a ridiculous question.

“Mph,” said Clara into the pillow.

“I see.” He came to sit at her side, his hands floating around before he decided to fold them loosely in his lap. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

Clara turned her head, her face still partially obscured by her dark hair. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “I do get that. This was sprung on you, too. It’s just... a lot to take in.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together in a frown. “I... was so scared,” he admitted, looking at the floor. “When I found out and I realized you were alone. When I called you, remember? It was like my heart was being squeezed because I wasn’t there and you could have been in danger.”

Clara sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. She curled her legs underneath her and leaned on one hand so they were sitting side by side. He looked at her then, his eyes full of emotion. Turning slightly, he cupped her face in his palms, running his thumbs gently over the apples of her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t wait anymore.” He leaned forward and kissed her, a shiver tripping down his spine at the first touch of her warm, soft lips. He didn’t deepen the kiss right away, instead he kissed her slowly, carefully, infusing each movement with the growing intensity coiling within. When he felt about ready to combust, he pulled back, looking deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Clara.”

Her lips, moist and full from his kisses, parted on a soft gasp and her dark eyes danced.

“I know you said you weren’t ready to hear it, but,” he swallowed thickly, “I knew the moment that fear gripped my heart that I love you, without a doubt. I was so afraid to lose you, you mean so much to me. And I had to tell you. Can you forgive me for not waiting?”

Clara laced her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him to her, crashing their lips together. He made a startled sound, but was drawn into the kiss quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and turning, half-falling onto the bed over her. She released him briefly, smiling up at him. With gentle fingers, she brushed his floppy fringe out of his eyes.

“You silly boy,” she said. “I love you, too. I was ridiculous to keep you from saying it before.”

Elation speared through him, making his stomach feel weightless for several seconds, as he captured her mouth again, possessive, yet gentle. He poured all he felt in his heart into the kiss, that it didn’t matter how long they’d known each other in days, his soul had known her forever. He loved her so deeply, that in itself was pain mixed with pleasure. A fierce ache within that could only be fulfilled by Clara.

His hands went to the black Peter Pan collar of her red dress, deftly undoing the buttons down the front of the garment until she could wiggle free. He pulled it from her, leaving her in her white lace bra and silky white knickers. He groaned. Clara leaned up on her arms, nuzzling Matt’s neck with her nose and lips, before finding the end of the bowtie with her teeth and pulling it loose. With one hand, she tugged at the soft length of fabric until it came out of his collar. She grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling.

“Love this bowtie,” she said, her voice low, sending another shiver down his back.

He scrambled to free himself from his jacket, shirt, and trousers, but Clara did her best to distract him from the task by trailing the slim red material of the tie across her bare belly and breasts. He almost fell over when he saw her nipples stand out against the lace of her bra as she teased them with the fabric. He couldn’t return to the bed fast enough.

Laying kisses across her collarbone, he slowly made his way over the light swell of her breasts as he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. She pushed the flimsy garment down her arms and off, then gasped as he dipped his head and laved one nipple with his tongue. He repeated the same motions with the other, caressing her breasts and licking and sucking the hardened peaks. His body pressed tight against hers and she moaned at the feel of his erection against her thigh, still amazed that she could turn him on so much.

He licked a moist trail across her stomach, drawing her knickers down her legs as he moved across her body. Starting with a hand on each ankle, he traveled back up, caressing her calves and thighs, until his thumbs met and he gently parted her legs, settling himself between them. He had a light shadow on his jaw that stimulated the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and his dark emerald eyes were on hers as he gave her one long lick along her wet slit.

Her hips rocked against his mouth and she clenched the sheets in both fists as Matt pressed his face harder against her folds, lapping at her with his tongue and moaning as he devoured her. A small shriek escaped her as she shattered, her inner muscles clenching around nothing, needing him fiercely. She grabbed at his shoulders and he crawled up her body. Laying her hands flat on his chest, she pushed him, rolling them over until she straddled him. She scooted down to grasp his pants, which she wasted no time in getting off of him, freeing him from the confines.

Matt’s head lolled back as Clara slid her soft lips around his cock. He looked back down and threaded one hand into her hair, tilting her head back so that he could watch her eyes. Her hair felt like silk in his hand, her mouth hot and wet around him. He could still smell her passion on his face and, combined with what Clara was doing with her tongue, he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

When he gave a light tug on her hair, she let him go with a wet pop. She reached over him to the nightstand where she’d stashed their condoms. It was the work of a moment to sheath him in the latex and then he was pulling her to him. He kissed her again as he rolled her beneath him, a purr rising within his chest as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. The scent of her juices mingled with his pre-come was one of the most intoxicating smells he’d ever experienced.

She clung to him as their mouths battled for dominance, feeding their needs in ways that only two people in love could fulfill.

Matt grabbed her thighs and raised them up, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Without breaking the kiss, he guided his cock to her waiting entrance and thrust home into her slick heat. With slow, deliberate thrusts, Matt showed Clara his love for her, taking his pleasure from her body, while giving her all that he could. She moaned inside his mouth, and the sound went straight to his core. He forced himself to keep the pace slow, drawing out the moment for as long as he possibly could.

When her body began to shake, he thrust harder, knowing she was close. “Come for me,” he murmured against her lips. “Please, Clara...”

She cried out and contracted around him in pulse after pulse. In the moment before his own release, he could only wish that they could remain like that forever, with him deep inside her, making love over and over again. His climax tore through him then, and he threw his head back with a hoarse groan.

As he collapsed against her, her arms came up and around him, cradling him close. She rained kisses across his face as their ragged breathing mingled between them. He lifted his head enough to see her eyes and he smiled sleepily at her.

“I love you,” he said. “My Clara.”

Her answering smile sent butterflies winging in his stomach. “I love you, too.”


	23. Chapter 23

Two weeks later, Rory was hauling Amy, in the wheelchair, up the two steps to the front door of the Bothal house. With several grunts of effort, he set her down as gently as possible and leaned over the back of the chair, catching his breath, while Amy knocked on the door. Rose opened it a few moments later, beaming.

“Amy!”

“Start the party,” Amy said with a regal wave of her hand. “I have arrived!”

Rory tilted the chair back to get the front wheels over the threshold, then moved her inside.

“I like your new ride,” said Rose with a grin.

“And here I was, using my legs like a sucker.” Amy laughed. “No, really, I can walk.”

“No, you can’t,” said Rory.

“Yes, I can,” she insisted. “A little.”

“Eight steps.”

“And tomorrow it will be nine,” said Amy. “And after that, it will be ten. I wasn’t going to let a little thing like _walking_ keep me from your wedding!” She held up her arms to Rose. “Give up the hugs!”

Rose chuckled as she leaned down to hug her friend. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.”

“Psssh, comas are easy,” said Amy. “You just sort of lay there.”

Rose turned to Rory. “Good to see you, too.” She put her arms around him for a hug and whispered in his ear, “Matt let us in on your situation. Don’t worry, we’ve got your back. Stay as long as you need to.”

Rory pulled back, his eyes wide. “I... Is this the right house? You ARE Rose Tyler, aren’t you?”

Rose laughed lightly. Her few interactions with Rory had been well before the Doctor had come into her life and significantly altered her point of view. She pointed down the hall. “We converted the den into a room for you two, seeing as how stairs are not Amy’s friends at the moment.”

Jackie and the Doctor came in from the kitchen then, talking about the cake samples. Jackie was adamant that they would not have a meat cake, no matter what ‘epic’ thing the Doctor found on YouTube. 

One look at Jackie and Amy’s face froze in a mask of shock. “Oh, my God!”

Rose sucked in a breath. “Ooh. Yeah. Forgot to mention. My parents? Not dead.”

“What the hell?” exclaimed Amy.

“We’ll have a talk later,” said Rose. “I’ll explain.”

“You’d bloody well better!” said Amy, her eyes still fixed on the not-dead woman across the room.

The Doctor sidled up to Rose and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Hello, beautiful,” he purred in her ear. “It’s been hours.” He laid a series of kisses from her ear to her neck as Rose melted against him.

“Get a room!” called Amy.

Rose gave her friend a _Look._ “This is my house! Every room is my room!”

Jackie eased her way over to Amy then, smiling to soften the whole ‘not dead’ news. “It’s so good to see you again, Amy.”

Amy eyed Jackie, suspiciously. “Sort of feels like I’m talking to a zombie, but good to see you, too. Lay off my brains, won’t you?”

Jackie chuckled. “No worries there. Sorry to spring this on you, we’ve been a bit busy.”

“Clara must have flipped,” said Amy.

“Yeah, she did,” said Rose. “But she’s bearing up nicely, considering. So, where are the others you were bringing?”

“Einstein and Caspar are getting the luggage,” said Amy.

“Einstein and Caspar?” repeated the Doctor.

“Well, okay, Lewis and Don,” said Amy, rolling her eyes a bit. “I’m just used to calling them by their nicknames.”

“And the third?” asked Rose.

“Oh, you know the third,” said Amy. “Elton Toddy.”

“Toady?” asked Rose, in surprise. “My sister’s old shadow-- I mean, assistant?”

“Yeah,” said Amy. “He had finals, so he’s coming tomorrow.”

“This should be a fun reunion,” said Rose. “Lynda’s flying in tomorrow, too.” She held up a hand at Amy’s panicked expression. “Don’t worry, she’s staying at a hotel in Blyth. You won’t have to deal with her... much.”

Two young men eased into the house then, carrying a large and heavy-looking case. The tall nerdy one with the too-short pants and pocket protector had a constant litany of “Careful! Don’t drop it!” going, while the one dressed in all black with a ton of eye makeup insisted that he WAS being careful. Only when the case was set down did the first one sigh with relief.

“I’m guessing these are the aforementioned two stooges,” said Rose, stepping forward to greet them. “I’m Rose, and you are?”

“Lewis Freeman, at your service,” said the one with the large glasses perched on his nose, giving Rose a large smile and a firm handshake.

“And you must be--” began the Doctor to the other one.

He swept his trenchcoat around himself, standing up to his full, but still unimpressive, height. “You may call me... Demonixx,” he said, going for majestic.

“Right,” said Rose. “You’re Don.”

He sighed. “If you must. The title my _parents_ bestowed upon me is Don Wright.”

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” asked Rose.

“Like what?” asked Don. It sounded like a genuine question.

The Doctor turned away from the gothic freak and looked over at the huge case they’d struggled to bring inside. “What’s in here?” he asked Lewis. “Video equipment?”

“Some, yes,” said Lewis.

“To film the wedding?” the Doctor asked, smiling. He hadn’t thought about a wedding video and quite liked the idea.

“Oh, no!” said Lewis, hovering over the case like he was a mother bird protecting its egg. “This is for my paranormal research!”

“Your what now?” asked Rose.

“Oh, here we go...” muttered Amy, putting a hand to her head.

“We tried to talk him out of it,” said Rory, apologetically.

“Old houses like these are TEEMING with paranormal activity!” Lewis began fluttering around the case, gesturing wildly around himself, and Rose took a step back. “I’ve got my night vision camera, a temperature gauge, electromagnetic field monitors, digital voice recorders, the whole shebang!”

“Oh, please,” said Don from his place, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. “You wouldn’t know paranormal activity if it bit you on your arse.”

“That’s very interesting, boys,” said Jackie, in a kind voice. “But ghosts and spirits... I can assure you there’s nothing of that kind here.”

Don stretched out his hands toward the ceiling. “But... I can _feel_ a presence...”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “He always does.”

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose. “Remind me why you lot are here, again?” she asked, becoming a bit irritated with all the nonsense.

“Well, I’m pre-med,” said Lewis. “So, I’m in charge of Amy’s rehabilitation exercises while we’re here. Elton’s coming because--”

“He’s the sane one,” said Amy.

“He’s also the only one of them who actually knew you, so he felt left out,” said Rory.

“And _I_ brought the wedding gift,” said Don, importantly.

“Really?” said Rose, doubtfully.

“Yes,” Don confirmed, continuing on in a grandiose tone. “I have come to offer you my EXTRAORDINARY talents, and give you and your beloved a couple’s tarot reading!”

Jackie snorted.

“Oh...” said the Doctor, looking to Rose, who nodded to tell him to ‘make nice’ instead of saying what he really thought of the ‘gift.’ “That’s... that’s generous.”

Don held up one hand, the nails painted with black varnish. “Please, you may thank me later.” He extended both hands to each of them. “Come, both of you... Let me see your hands...”

* * *

_“Let me see your hands...”_

_The girl took the soldier’s hand in both of hers and gazed intently at it. Her dark, somewhat wild hair and colorful clothing marked her as a gypsy, but her pale skin and blue eyes spoke of a mixed heritage. Wherever it was that she came from, the owners of the Russian tavern didn’t seem to mind her presence, as long as she did her divination over in a corner of the room where she wouldn’t bother the other patrons. The soldier bit his lip a bit, fidgeting with the helmet clutched in his free hand, as he wondered what she would say._

_“Yes,” she said, finally, in her thick Romani accent. “I see... girl. Beautiful girl. Red hair. Lessie? Lezzie? Less-u-lee?”_

_“Leslie!” he said, deciphering her broken English._

_“Ya! Less-u-lee! She... kiss paper... hold to heart. She put paper in... in... other paper. Close paper? Paper package.” Her furrowed brow said she was having trouble finding the right word._

_“Envelope?”_

_“Ya! She write... ‘Give Hitler what for. Come home soon.’ She writes this to you. Eddie.”_

_“But... I’m James,” he said, confused._

_“Ooh.” The girl looked back down at his hand, then looked up at him apologetically. “Eh... She write to Eddie. Maybe you get... Dear James letter?”_

_“Dear John,” he corrected, dejectedly._

_“No, you James, you tell me.” She let go of his hand and pushed half of the coins he’d given her across the table. “Here, you take half money back. You use to write letter. Iaquihrin very sorry.”_

_He sighed before standing up from the little table. “Thanks.” He walked back over to the bar where two other soldiers stood. They sniggered when they saw his downcast expression._

_“You get fortune?” asked Adarchenko, their Russian liason. “Tall, dark, handsome man come, sweep you off feet?” He and the other, the name on his uniform declaring his name Tyler, burst into laughter again._

_“It’s not funny!” said James, his face red. “Leslie might be cheating on me! Some guy named Eddie...”_

_“Now, don’t jump to conclusions,” said Tyler, patting the poor private on the shoulder. “It’s not even real, it’s just a gypsy story.”_

_“Well, it’s your turn now, Sarge,” James said to him. “You’ve been eyeing her all night.”_

_Adarchenko elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe pretty gypsy give you _special_ fortune.”_

_“Oh, come on,” said Tyler. “She’s got to be all of, what? Fifteen? She’s a kid!”_

_“Uh huh,” said Adarchenko._ “Sexy _kid.”_

_“You’re one sick Russkie, Ben,” said James. He gestured over at the girl’s table, she was crooking her finger at the Sergeant. “Look, Sarge, she’s calling you over, see her? It’s your turn.”_

_“All right, all right,” he said, finishing off his glass of ale. “Poor kid probably needs the money.”_

_He set the glass down and went over to the girl, who crossed one leg over the other and placed her chin in her hand as she smiled up at him._

_“Hallo,” she said, flirtatiously._

_“Uh... hi,” he returned, a bit uncomfortable._

_“You like?”_

_“What?”_

_Her smile faltered a bit. “Uh, you like? You like to look?”_

_“What?” he repeated, not quite getting what she meant._

_She sighed, frustrated that her flirting was put off by a language barrier. “Uh, my English... not so good.” She gestured at herself. “At me. You like to be looking at me. All night, I see you. You look at me. You like Iaquihrin?”_

_He shifted a bit, embarrassed to have been caught staring at a girl who looked so young. “Well... that is...”_

_“Is good,” she reassured him. “I like you to look. Handsome American soldier.”_

_“Uh... Pete,” he offered._

_“Ooh, soldier Pete,” she said._

_“Sergeant Pete.” He shook his head. “Uh, Peter. Sergeant Peter Tyler.”_

_She laughed, a light tinkly sound. “I like Sergeant Pete! Very funny. I am Iaquihrin.”_

_She said it so fast, he couldn’t twist his tongue around the strange name. “Ya-- Yack--”_

_“You say ‘Iaqui.’ Yes?”_

_“Yackie? Like... Jackie? That’s easier.”_

_Her brow furrowed slightly. “What is easier? Jha-key. Oh, this is my name! Jha-key, Jha-key... I like!” she said, smiling. “We keep it. Now... What you like from Jha-key today?”_

_“UH. ERM.” He shifted his feet and looked closely at her. “How old are you?”_

_She held up two fingers. “Two week ago, I turn eighteen.”_

_His mouth twisted slightly, not sure if he should believe her. “You look... younger.”_

_She wrinkled her nose. “Skinny, yes?”_

_He waved a hand, hastening to apologize. “No, I mean, not like it’s bad or anything...”_

_She laughed. “You are very... uh...” She made a circular motion with her hand. “Is word... means to move fast... ticklish? No, is not right... You cannot sleep.”_

_He found her word scramble rather charming and laughed softly. “What?”_

_“Ah, word... will not come,” she said, frustrated. “There is... no comfort for you?”_

_It clicked. “Uncomfortable!”_

_She pointed at him. “Ya! Un-comfort-bull. You... you move fast.”_

_“Fidget.”_

_She giggled. “Not sound like word. You play trick on Jha-key?”_

_“No, I can assure you, my dear, it is a word.”_

_“Deer, my deer... I like.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Sit. Give Jha-key hand.”_

_“Which one?”_

_She gave him a slow smile, revealing she had all of her teeth, each one of them pearly white. “Not matter to Jha-key.”_

_He sat down and extended his right hand to her. She took it in both of hers and peered intently at the lines crossing his palm. He tried not to show how her touch affected him, but the little tingles running up his arm made him want to shiver. He suppressed it as best he could, but she seemed absorbed in looking at his hand anyway._

_“Hmm... I see... wild heart. You not like to stay in one place. We have this the same, yes?” she said with a soft, flirty laugh. “Eh... There is... no one special for you. No pretty girl.” She paused. “But she is drawn to you. And you to her.”_

_“But you just said...” He shook his head. “No, there’s no girl, like you said first.”_

_“No girl_ now,” _she said, glancing up at him. “Things change.” She looked back down at his hand. “Things are... rough.”_

_“Well, sure, we’re at war.”_

_She shook her head. “No, no, for Sergeant Pete, things are rough. Must walk through fire. Must stand in rain. Whole world will change. Because of war, yes, but you... You, Sergeant Pete. You will have change.” She sighed, furrowing her brow as she looked at his hand. “Is cloudy. Cloudy like... Jha-key has not seen.” She nodded. “But... is good. Will be good change for you.” She looked up and relinquished his hand. “Is all I have.”_

_“Well,” he said, not quite sure what to make of the fortune. “Thank you.” He stood up, reached into one of the many pockets on his uniform, and withdrew a few coins for her, which he placed on the table._

_She gasped. “No, no, no,” she said, “your money no good.”_

_“My money’s not good?” he repeated, confused._

_“No. Is cursed.” Her serious face cracked and a giggle escaped her, then she was back to being serious. “You must pay me other way.”_

_He couldn’t help but smile as he played along with her game. “Oh. I see. What can I possibly give you?”_

_She tapped her chin with one finger, then said, “You give pretty gypsy girl kiss... for_ special _fortune.”_

_He sighed as if it were a monumental task. “If I must.” He leaned down, ready to give her a quick kiss, but everything stopped when her mouth touched his._

_Her lips were surprisingly warm and mobile beneath his. She made a small, appreciative sound in the back of her throat and something snapped into place deep within his heart. Bringing his hand to her cheek, he abandoned all restraint then and kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough, trying to assuage a hunger that would never be satisfied._

_He pulled away from her suddenly, gasping harshly for air. Stunned by the abrupt release, she stared at him in astonished silence. Her fingers were trembling as she pressed them to her lips, still damp from his kiss. With an explosive sigh, he retreated to the far side of the tavern, raking a hand through his short-cropped hair._

* * *

As Rose supervised the two college boys bringing in the rest of the luggage, Pete came downstairs and stood next to his wife, who appeared to be watching the goings-on, but her eyes were distant. He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her into him.

“All right, there, Jacks?”

“Mmm?” She looked up at him, her gaze coming back into focus. “Oh... yes. I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hip lightly. “You were a million miles away.”

“I was just thinking... About the first time we met.” She looked at him through her eyelashes and dropped her old accent back into her voice, “Sergeant Pete.”

Pete’s ears turned bright red and he buried his face against her bleached hair. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.”

* * *

Amy, having been carried upstairs by Rory, sat against the headboard of Rose’s bed, three wedding gowns in various shades of white piled around her. Rose stood on a footstool while Clara circled her with pins, tucking fabric here and there on yet another beautiful satin and lace gown.

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Amy, lifting an eyebrow at her friends.

“No,” said Clara. “Not a joke. They really do exist.” She poked Rose back into place on the stool. “Hold still!”

“You’re poking me with pins! How can I hold still?” asked Rose.

“No, seriously,” said Amy. “You’re fucking with me.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Clara.

“You girls know me,” said Rose. “If I was fucking with you, you’d know it by now. I’m all about the immediate payoff, not the slow burn.” She wriggled her shoulders a bit, trying to get comfortable in the dress. “Apparently, we have a certain amount of longevity that becomes... noticeable after a while. A fake death is sometimes the only way to cut yourself off from... people who wouldn’t understand.” She jumped as Clara jabbed her again. “OW! Seriously, Clara, back off with the pins!”

Clara put her hands on her hips. “Do you want to wear a dress or a tent?”

“I _want_ to wear my black cocktail dress,” said Rose. _“You_ want me to wear this tent!”

“So, really... Just how mad has she been?” Amy asked Rose.

She sighed. “Well, this is, admittedly, not too bad. It’s been a lot better since Matt got here.”

“Thank you,” said Clara, nodding her head. “I’ve made an effort.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Rose, cheekily. “From the noises I hear coming from your room, he’s making quite a bit of an _effort_ as well.”

“ROSE!”

Amy sat up straight. “You punched your V-card? Oh, my GOD, Clara!”

Clara giggled shyly.

“So, considering that she has a source of stress relief now, she’s doing better,” said Rose. “She backed down off the decorations, the Doctor’s formal tux, the hall, and the wedding favors.”

“Really?” said Amy, surprised. “She backed off the favors?”

“Sort of,” said Rose. “We have little bottles full of bubbles now, which we only agreed to because the Doctor loved the idea. And the candy hearts will be in a big bowl.” She made a face and gestured to the dress she was wearing. “She’s still insisting on a gown for me, which is why we’re here now. And we’re getting an actual wedding cake, which we’ve been up to our elbows in for the past two weeks.”

“I had one picked out,” said Clara, “but the Doctor’s allergic to raspberries.”

“So, she insisted we were involved in the ‘cake choosing process’ this time,” said Rose.

“Well, it is YOUR wedding,” said Amy.

Rose groaned. “I am so bloody sick of cake. Just the sight of it makes me want to vomit.”

Clara wagged a finger at Rose. “You’d better not get sick! The Doctor told me you honked this morning.”

“You’d honk too, if you’d eaten as much cake as I did.”

“I DID eat as much as you did!”

Amy clapped her hands. “Ladies! Focus! No need to stick pins in places where they shouldn’t go!” She plucked at the sleeve of one of the dresses on the bed. “Please tell me these aren’t the same dresses you picked from, Clara.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I threw a dart at a catalogue,” said Rose.

“So, these are the ones we’re stuck with,” said Clara. She stepped back. “What do you think of this one?”

“It’s fine,” said Rose. “It’s just like the others, it’s fine.”

Clara huffed impatiently. “Rose, LOOK in the mirror.”

“It’s all the same dress!” said Rose. “It’s white, it’s fluffy, I feel like a marshmallow!”

Clara pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Just look. Please.”

With a sigh, Rose looked at herself in the mirror and turned this way and that with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “It’s not bad.” She shook her head. “But it’s not me.”

It was Clara’s turn to sigh as she began pulling pins. “It’s okay. We’ve got three more to go.”

“Ugh...”

From underneath a gauzy veil, Amy grinned. “Isn’t this fun?” she said in faux excitement.

* * *

Caspar, or Don as the ‘normals’ called him, had draped the window in the shared bedroom with his black cloak to block out the light that streamed through the curtains. His iPod was playing some kind of creepy organ music as he sat on the floor with his eyes shut, his hands palm up on his knees.

“Oooohm... Ooooohm...” he chanted. “Hail to the guardian of the dark watchtower...”

Lewis, or Einstein as he was now used to being called, entered the room then and shut the door. “Oh, shut up,” he said, sourly, before irritably turning off the iPod.

Caspar kept his eyes closed, trying to stay ‘zen’ in the face of the non-believer. “If you don’t mind, I am _trying_ to communicate with the spirits of this abode.”

“Well, that’s going to be a very one-sided conversation,” said Einstein, clearly in a bad mood, as he flopped down on his bed. He pulled his portable EMF device from the pocket of his jeans and set it on the nightstand. The needle hovered in the green area, denoting that there were electronic devices nearby, but nothing supernatural. “There was more paranormal activity at the petting zoo near the gift shop at the airport than there is here.” He sighed. “This excursion is going to be a total bust.”

“Well, as USUAL, you’ve been going about things the wrong way.”

Einstein rolled his eyes. “Oh, I suppose you can wave some incense in the air and a Hell Mouth will open right at your feet.”

Caspar opened his eyes then to lift an eyebrow at his roommate. “And how’s YOUR method working for you?” He grinned smugly when all Einstein could do was mumble angrily. “Suddenly, my incense isn’t QUITE so silly, is it?”

Einstein waved his hands at him. “Fine. Be my guest. TRY to contact... _anything!_ I don’t even have mobile reception here! But you go ahead! This should at least be entertaining.”

“‘I find your lack of faith disturbing,’” Caspar quoted.

“Oh, Jesus.”

Ignoring him, Caspar turned his iPod back on and then set about preparing the space. He burned sandalwood incense and lit black tealight candles, then drew a circle on the wooden floor with a piece of chalk. He took an old, leather covered book from his luggage and settled himself inside the circle. After finding the appropriate page, he reached out one hand and recited in a deep voice,

“Audio vos phasmatis nos dico super o. O phasmatis iunctus ut populus illae has. Manifestos ost nobis hic...”

He waited, the moment tense, and then...

The EMF beeped to life.

Downstairs, a chill chased itself up and down Jackie’s spine and she gasped. Pete turned to her at once.

“Jacks, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, hiding how startled she felt. “Nothing, I’m fine.

* * *

“Dude!”

The Doctor smiled as Mickey Smith flung open his arms and pulled him in for a back-slapping hug. Mickey’s puffy black jacket still had snow clinging to it, wetting the Doctor’s pinstriped jacket, but he didn’t much care at the moment. He was glad to see his oldest friend.

“Mr. Mickey-Mick-Mickety-Mick! Get in here!”

Mickey pulled his suitcase into the house and the Doctor closed the door behind them. Mickey lifted an eyebrow at him as he pulled off his gloves and beanie. “Getting married? Seriously?”

The Doctor grinned, pulling at his ear a little. “Heh. Yeah. Glad you could make it.”

“Have you not learned from my triple mistake? Marriage brings bad juju, mate!” He unzipped his coat and removed it, revealing a fine cashmere jumper over his well-fitting jeans.

“No, you just cock up everything you touch.”

Mickey shrugged, not worried. “They call me Mr. Child Support. It’s a good thing I’ve got the money.”

“You’re welcome,” said the Doctor, pointedly, since it was only due to his help that Mickey graduated from uni at all. “You’re two weeks early for the wedding, you know.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta plan the bachelor party, am I right?” He clapped his hands before him and rubbed them together. “Now, where’s this babe of yours?”

“None of that,” he warned, pointing a finger at Mickey. The Doctor called up the stairs. “Rose!”

“Just a second!” she called down.

“Really, dude,” said Mickey. “I never pegged you as the marrying type. She must be a real fox to have landed you.”

“She’s beautiful,” said the Doctor, his eyes still on the stairs as Rose came into view. Instantly, his heart beat just a bit faster and his fingers twitched in anticipation of touching her. With a smile, she descended the staircase and came to him, leaning up for a kiss. He stroked one hand across her cheek and through her hair, forgetting about Mickey as he let his senses be overwhelmed by her. It was only when his friend cleared his throat that he reluctantly drew back, but he kept his gaze on Rose as he waved a vague hand in Mickey’s direction. “Rose, this is my best friend, Mickey Smith.”

“No relation,” said Mickey, with a grin.

“So, this is your best man?” she asked, looking at the newcomer.

“Baby, I am THE best man,” said Mickey, in his typical cocky tone.

“Baby?” repeated Rose, narrowing her eyes a bit.

“And I can prove it,” Mickey continued. “Gimme ten minutes. I’ll have you praying.”

The Doctor glared at his friend, who paid him no mind. Rose placed a hand on her hip, clearly unimpressed. “I’m almost afraid to ask... Praying?”

“You know,” said Mickey. “‘Oh, God, oh, God!’”

“Oh, God...” muttered Rose, disgusted.

The Doctor stepped slightly in front of her, pinning Mickey with his glare. “That’s my wife!”

“Not yet, mate!” Mickey said, still grinning. “Until then, she’s open season! And I come fully loaded! Both barrels!”

The Doctor laughed as he stepped nearer to him. “Hey, Mickey, you remember that time where I punched you in the face?”

“Which time?” asked Mickey, chuckling.

The Doctor’s smile dropped. “This time.” He slugged Mickey right in the jaw. The shorter man stumbled back, cradling his face in his hands. The Doctor stood at his full height, telling the other man with his expression that any further advances on his mate would definitely not be tolerated.

“You hit harder than you used to,” said Mickey. He wiggled his jaw back and forth, testing that no permanent harm had been done, before brightening again. “So! Where be the bridesmaids?”

From behind the Doctor, Rose sighed and he turned to her at once. He could see in her eyes at she was tired. “Doctor, keep your friend... occupied. I’m going to go lie down.”

He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her temple, gently rubbing circles on her back. “I promise, Mickey’s a great guy on the inside. You just have to get past the layer of idiot.”

“I trust you,” she said. “I’m just tired. So many wedding dresses.”

“I understand,” he said. “Have a good rest.” He watched her go back upstairs, smiling as she gave him a little wave before disappearing through a doorway. Turning back to his friend, he said, “Mickey, how about a tour of the house? I’ll introduce you to the others.”

In the kitchen, they found Pete stirring a bubbling concoction on the stove and Lewis meandering around the corners of the room with a beeping device in his hands. Pete looked up and nodded at them with a slight smile.

“Doctor,” said Pete. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Mickey,” said the Doctor, gesturing to the man beside him. “He’s my best man.”

“How do?” asked Mickey.

“Do fine,” replied Pete. He angled his head at the stove. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

“Lewis,” said the Doctor. “How goes the ghost hunt?”

“Better!” said Lewis, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m getting some really good spikes on the EMF right now in this area. I’m going to try some EVP work where it’s quieter.”

“EMF? EVP?” repeated Mickey, confused. “I think I was treated for that. Don’t worry, man, it’s totally curable.”

“No,” said the Doctor. “It’s Electromagnetic Field and Electronic Voice Phenomenon. Lewis is an amateur ghost hunter.”

“Oh, paranormal psychology,” said Mickey. “Yeah, I read up on that. So, when you catch the ghosts, do you set them on a couch and ask them about their feelings?”

Lewis rolled his eyes and walked around them to leave the room. “Uh huh,” he said, derisively. “I’m gonna... go in the dining room now.”

Placing a lid on the pot on the stove, Pete followed him out. “I’ll join you.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Good to see you make friends just as easily as before, Mickey.”

* * *

Lewis walked into the large formal dining room, recently dusted and made available for use, since the kitchen table would no longer accommodate the amount of guests the house currently had. He looked up at the large crystal chandelier, holding his EMF device higher. The needle twitched and vibrated in the yellow area as the machine beeped consistently. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small device and pressed the red button.

“Is there anyone here with me now?” he asked.

“Just me,” said Pete as he walked into the room.

“Oh, Mr. Tyler.” Lewis turned the recorder off.

“Call me Pete. Mr. Tyler is my son.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why he’s always so uptight.” He gestured at the two electronics Lewis was holding. “What are you up to with those?”

Lewis held up the smaller device. “It’s a digital voice recorder. See, there are sound waves going through the air all the time, even though we can’t hear them. And some of these waves manifest themselves on recorded tape. Sometimes the playback comes through as voices, garbled words... Messages from the other side!”

Pete gave him a half-smile. “You’re starting to sound a bit like your pale friend.”

Lewis shuddered. “Sorry, not my intention. I just get excited about this stuff. The other day, this place was absolutely dead, if you’ll forgive the pun, as far as supernatural activity. But now, the EMF spikes are hitting everywhere!”

Pete’s brow furrowed in sudden concern. “Really?” He stepped closer, crossing his arms. “So, what do we do to get these ghosts to talk to us?”

“It’s simple, really.” Lewis depressed the red button again. “Is there anyone here with us now?” he said, speaking slowly and clearly, with a pause between each question. “Is there anybody who wants to talk? Anybody with a message? Anyone who left something undone?” He pressed the stop button. “Now, we listen to see if anything comes through.”

He rewound the tape and pressed play. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was Lewis’ own voice, but then a garbled noise, higher pitched like a female, came through over him. The other voice was whispered and difficult to discern, but a few words came through clearly.

_Mine... He’s mine..._

The words repeated themselves over and over during Lewis’ recorded questions, then suddenly, right before the recording was stopped, a grating male voice came through with a clear warning:

_Get... out... now..._


	24. Chapter 24

Pete burst into the room he was sharing with Jackie. She jumped from where she was sitting at the vanity table, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“Pete!” she exclaimed, startled.

“How long have you known?” he asked as he closed the door behind him. His blue eyes were clouded with worry as he looked at Jackie. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly upset.

“What are you on about?” she asked.

“The spirits in the house,” he said, shortly. “How long have you known?”

“That’s mad,” she said, turning back toward the mirror. “There aren’t any spirits here.”

“I’m not in the mood for games!” he said, moving closer. He looked at her in the glass, but she avoided his eyes. “You taught me well enough to know when to be cautious. Are we in any danger?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” she said, fussing with her hair.

“Like hell you don’t.”

She made an impatient gesture. “Look, I left that in the old country, it’s gone, I don’t feel it anymore! If there’s something going on here, it has nothing to do with me!”

“Bollocks!”

She turned and leveled a glare at him. “No, Pete! We’re done.”

“Don’t pull that with me, Iaqui--”

She bolted to her feet, advancing on him. “Don’t call me that!” she said, prodding him in the chest with her manicured finger. “Iaquihrin _died._ You understand?”

He grabbed her by the wrist to stop her from poking him, his face drawn and serious. “No, _you_ understand,” he said. “You know what happened the last time you denied who you are.”

* * *

_1945, Austria_

_The night was lit the bright orange of fire, the air filled with smoke and the sound of distant gunshots. Cries of women and children that seemed endless. Men shouted. Soldiers ran everywhere, going into various buildings and pulling out survivors. Sergeant Tyler stood at a doorway, counting his men as they exited a burning building, all of them helping and sometimes carrying thin, emaciated prisoners to rescue._

_Corporal James brought up the rear. “I think we got everyone, Sarge,” he said, shouting over the din._

_“All right, hurry to the safe point,” said Pete, jogging just behind him._

__Help me. Can’t get out. __

_Pete stopped, turning back to look at the burning buildings. Something tickled the back of his mind, making him uneasy. There had to be more people in there... What if someone was trapped?_

_“Sarge?” asked James, having stopped a few feet away when he realized his commander was not moving._

_Pete glanced back at the corporal and jabbed his thumb in the opposite direction. “I’m checking out the ovens.”_

_James grabbed his sleeve when he would have run off. “You can’t go by yourself! And that whole building’s on fire, Sarge! If anyone’s in there, they’re dead!”_

_Pete shook him off. “You have your orders, soldier!” he said, gruffly. “Now move!” Without waiting to see if his command would be followed, he ran off toward the building, its flames stretching high into the night sky._

_He broke down the door, holding an arm over his face as heat and smoke poured out. Within the building, he could hear someone screaming in agony, but it was difficult to tell the direction it was coming from over the roar of the fire. The ceiling cracked and groaned. The structure didn’t have long._

_“Can anyone hear me?” Pete shouted, making his way into the building, something within him prodding him forward. He hurried down the corridor, knocking debris out of the way and kicking in doors. “Say something if you can hear me!”_

_The screaming was growing louder as he neared the end of the hall. Breaking in the door, he coughed and squinted through the smoke. “Anyone there?” He caught sight of some movement, the swish of a woman’s dark hair as she turned her head to look in his direction. He kicked the remains of the door out of the way and hurried to her. She wasn’t screaming, but the sound could still be heard._

_Pete grabbed her arm, helping her to her feet. “I’ve got to get you out of here,” he said._

_“Doctor,” she said in a strange, thick accent._

_“No, I’m a soldier,” he said._

_“He doctor,” she said. Her voice was low, calm, so out of place, but oddly familiar. “But he kills. He tortures. So, I kill him.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_She laughed, a dark sound. “Screaming. Cooking. In there.” She pointed at a large metal door with a heavy locking mechanism._

_Despite the sweat pouring off of him, Pete felt a sudden wave of cold. “You put him in the oven?” Even as he said it, the screams were dying out. The thought of perishing inside one of those torture rooms while also inside a burning building flummoxed him._

_“I kill him,” she went on. “I kill nurse. I kill all the others.”_

_“What others?” he asked. “How many?”_

_Her head snapped up then, her blue eyes suddenly clear. “I know you,” she said. “Sergeant Pete.”_

_The memory of the Russian tavern came back. A searing kiss. “Jackie,” he said, amazed. “You’re Jackie, aren’t you?”_

_The building creaked ominously. Wasting no more time, he swept her into his arms and ran from the room. Jumping over piles of refuse and dodging flames, he carried her close, holding her head tight to his chest. He bolted out of the building just as the supports began to give way and the entrance collapsed. Seconds later, the structure started falling in on itself. Pete ran with Jackie clutched safely in his arms toward the checkpoint._

* * *

_Doctors and nurses in soft, white uniforms swarmed the unit, caring for the many patients that had been brought in by the army. Pete tried not to wring his hat in his hands as he was led down the hallway, away from the burn victims to the ward being used for those who’d suffered smoke inhalation. It was a miracle that Pete was not among them, he’d somehow made it out of the burning building without a scratch._

_As soon as he’d found out which hospital Jackie had been taken to, he’d acquired leave to go see her. Knowing she was nearby pulled at his heart, the same pull he’d felt back at the camp, when he’d somehow known she was out there and in danger. He had to see her again, it was as necessary to him as breathing. The nurse held open the door to the room for him, then left to assume other duties._

_Jackie smiled up at him from the bed. “You come to visit.”_

_He moved to stand next to the bedside, a little half-smile quirking his lips. “Couldn’t stay away,” he said, honestly. “They told me you’re leaving tomorrow. Where will you go?”_

_She shrugged lightly. “Not know. Family is... gone. Is their way.”_

_“Right. Gypsies.”_

_Her gaze flickered, but she eventually nodded._

_“How did you get from Russia to Austria?” he asked._

_“I...” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Not know. Not... remember much.” She waved vaguely with one hand. “Trains. Men with guns. Many, many people...” She shrugged, her expression troubled._

_“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get back to your family.” He wasn’t sure how, but something about Jackie made him want to do the impossible for her. He needed to make sure she would be safe._

_“Sergeant Pete?” she said, her voice small and tired. “Give me hand?”_

_He laid his hat at the foot of her bed and extended both hands to her. “Which one?”_

_“Not matter to Jha-key.” She took the hand nearest her and laced her fingers through his. Closing her eyes, she sighed contentedly, the sentiment echoed deep within Pete._

* * *

The Doctor poured the last of the wine into Mickey’s glass and set the empty bottle aside, a bit unsteadily. Two other empty bottles kept it company as he looked back to his friend. They smiled at one another, feeling warm and fuzzy around the edges. The Doctor wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but found he didn’t care that much. He set his elbow on the table after two tries and propped his chin in his hand as he took another sip from his wineglass.

“So... So, how old are the little angels now?” he asked, having a bit of trouble making his ‘s’ sounds not run together.

Mickey concentrated hard on the question. “Paige is... eight. I think. Jenna is five. And a demon. And liiiiiittle itty bitty Lizzie is just turned three.” He held up two fingers. “This many.”

“I think it’s really appropriate that you were given girls, Mick,” said the Doctor around a grin.

Mickey laughed. “Yeah. You know what I don’t miss...” He swigged his wine. “S’when they get fat.”

“Little girls?”

“Nooo, pregnant women! Don’t get me wrong, the bigger boobies are a plus...” He sniggered and made grabby motions with his fingers. “Boooooobies...” He drank more of his wine. “But the rest of ‘em gets so big, too. And the bitchiness! And the fat ankles...” He shuddered. “Nope. Don’t miss it.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, unsurprised once again that Mickey was single. “You are one sensitive sonofabitch.”

“I know, right? I’m a giver.” Drunk Mickey was apparently deaf to sarcasm. “You know, some day, she could get fat ankles, too.”

“Rose?” The Doctor shook his head. “Nah.” He thought for a moment, and had to admit it was a possibility. “Well, yeah, she could. But she’s always had that rough kind of attitude. It’s one of her endearing qualities. It’s not really bitchy so much as... teasing, you know? Only...” He drank some more of his wine, thoughtfully. “She _has_ been acting pretty bitchy lately. Stressed out from the wedding. It’s that white veil! It turns women into psychopaths, like that!” He attempted to snap his fingers and gave up on the third try with a shrug. “You know, though... I don’t care if she gets fat. I wouldn’t mind making a little tiny person with Rose. Think about it! Little bitty fingers, little bitty toes...”

He chuckled, imagining a little girl with brown hair and Rose’s golden eyes. He’d never really thought about children, they’d certainly never discussed it, but now... The idea didn’t sound so bad. In fact... it kind of sounded pretty good. He looked at his wine glass, wondering if the dark red liquid had something to do with it. His brow furrowed as he realized Mickey was being awfully quiet when he should have had something to say by now. Looking next to him, he saw that his friend had his head down on his arm, which was resting on the table.

“Mickey?” The Doctor poked him in the shoulder with one finger, wondering if his friend had passed out.

“You... can’t... marry... her...” Mickey said, slowly, in a soft voice, his head still down.

“What?” said the Doctor, his eyebrows drawing together.

“She’s... not good enough... for you.”

“What are you talking about?” He set his wineglass aside, frowning. “Do I need to punch you again?”

Mickey slowly lifted his head, but his eyes were closed. “You can’t marry her when you already belong to someone else.” He shifted closer, running a hand from the Doctor’s shoulder down his back. “Remember, Doctor?” Mickey firmly grabbed his friend’s arse and the Doctor jumped out of his chair with a very manly shriek, quite suddenly and uncomfortably sober.

“WHAT THE HELL?” he shouted, but Mickey just slumped back down on the table with a soft moan.

Slowly, the Doctor walked around the other man, not even daring to blink. “Mickey?” Tentatively, he poked him again. “Hello? Drunken idiot?”

Mickey shifted, bringing one hand to his head as he groaned. “Ugh... Dude... I must be really stinking drunk. I think I just passed out.”

The Doctor heaved a breath. “No kidding. You just drunkenly grabbed my arse.”

Mickey snorted. “Shut up, no, I didn’t.”

“Uh, yes, you did,” the Doctor insisted. “You said I couldn’t marry Rose and that I belonged to someone else. Then you groped me and GRABBED my ARSE.” Placing one hand on a hip, the Doctor leaned over, grinning at his drunk friend. “Is that someone... YOU, Mickey?”

“Sh-shut up!” said Mickey, pushing him away. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to sober himself up as the Doctor laid on the psuedo-homoeroticism, knowing just what made Mickey uncomfortable.

“You know, Mickey,” said the Doctor, laying an arm over the other man’s shoulder. “I think you’re right. What was it you told the lesbian in the student lounge once? ‘Once you try Mickey, you’ll always want prick-y?’”

“Out of context!” Mickey cried. “Totally out of context!”

“Really, Mick!” said the Doctor, grabbing his friend’s hand before he could climb off of his chair and run away. He sidled up to Mickey, invading all his personal space. “Hearing those words from you, and seeing your... lithe, supple body here in front of me... I’ve decided. I want to bed a man.”

That was all Mickey could take. He stood up and pulled against the Doctor’s hold on his hand. “Doctor, I swear to God! You are freaking me the fuck out! Let go!”

The Doctor ignored him and only held the hand tighter, giving him a half-lidded look and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “So, if you wouldn’t mind... taking off your shirt... and getting out of those jeans... I’ll have you right now. Right here, on the kitchen floor.”

Mickey gave one last good yank and freed himself from the Doctor’s grasp, backing up toward the door with fear all over his face. He pointed at his friend. “NOT OKAY, DUDE. I hope you die in a fire!” And with that, Mr. Mickey turned tail and ran for his guest room.

The Doctor collapsed into the chair Mickey had vacated, laughing hysterically. He clutched the stitch in his side as he gasped for air. “Oh, that idiot... He’ll never get that drunk again!”

As the Doctor finished off the wine in his glass, Lewis walked through the kitchen with his beeping spectrometer, mumbling to himself and making frustrated noises as the beeping suddenly stopped.

* * *

Darkness. No stars, no moon. The night was utterly silent, the nocturnal creatures stilling as he stalked down the path, a ruthless predator. Mist swirled around his ankles, blurring the edges of his vision, until she materialized before him.

“Doctor?” said Lania, her voice echoing slightly.

His lips curled back in a feral snarl as he felt his claws lengthen. He was on her before she could draw another breath, her skin tearing like paper, her blood warm and wet on his face.

Her brown hair shimmered, turning from dark to light, becoming a sunny blonde. Horror spread through him as her screams changed from one voice to another, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself from ripping her apart. He felt her pain as vividly as if it were his own as she begged him to stop, but he couldn’t, his limbs moving of their own volition...

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed him and threw him off of Rose. He found himself staring up at Harry, who shouted, “Wake up, whelp! WAKE UP!” He struck him hard across the face.

The Doctor suddenly sat straight up in bed, his breathing gasping and ragged, his pulse beating wildly in his throat. Rose sat next to him, her hair tousled from sleep, but her eyes were wide and fearful. Her hand lay on his arm and he suspected she’d been trying to wake him for some time. He swallowed hard.

“All right?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” he said. He took a deep breath and released it shakily as he ran a hand across his face. He was covered in sweat. “Just... a nightmare.”

“Another one?” Rose asked, her eyes betraying her worry. “Or the same one?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Bollocks,” she said, furrowing her brow. “You’ve been having them all night.” She trailed her fingers down his arm to his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Doctor--”

“No, Rose!” he said, adamantly. His mind still felt rattled, he couldn’t bring himself to admit what the dream had been about. He made an impatient gesture then ruffled his hair with one hand, tugging at it lightly as if he could shake loose the images from his brain. “Just drop it. I’m all right. How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” she said, shortly, plainly irritated that he wasn’t opening up to her. “Usually does that when I’m awakened every hour by someone screaming.”

He sighed, he hadn’t even realized the dreams were making him call out. Guilt washed over him, mixing uncomfortably with the horror of the nightmare, still too fresh in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he said, moving to lay back down and turn over. “Just go back to sleep.”

Rose did not lay down, instead, she crossed her arms over her chest. “And have you wake me up again in another hour? I don’t think so. Maybe if you talk about it, you’ll feel better and we’ll both fall asleep and the headache will go away.”

He sat up, drawing up his knees and leaning his arms on them. “So now this is about you.”

“It’s got to be about someone and you won’t let me make it about _you!”_

“I just can’t sleep,” he said, irritation growing, “I’m fine!”

Huffing a short breath, Rose climbed out of bed, grabbed her robe from a nearby chair and stuck her arms through the sleeves. “Fine! You can stay here and NOT sleep all you want.”

“Where are you going to go?” he asked. “One of the guest rooms?”

She rolled her eyes. “Those are all prepared for our _guests._ I’ll sleep on the couch in the living area, or the island in the kitchen, I’ll sleep outside, or in the bloody car!” She went back to the bed and grabbed her pillow, shaking it at him for emphasis. “But _somewhere_ I am going to get _some_ sleep where there isn’t a mad person in the bed with me!”

He scoffed. “You just described my life.”

Her hand flashed in the air as she reached across the bed and slapped his cheek. His eyes went wide as fire bloomed over his skin in its wake. Rose’s golden eyes sparked with fury, but her voice was low and calm, “That’s for being an arse.” She turned and stalked out of the room.

Ignoring the pain in his jaw, the Doctor climbed out of bed and followed her, hackles raised. If Rose wanted a fight, she’d gotten one. “Don’t you run away from me!”

“This discussion is over!” she said over her shoulder as she continued down the hallway.

“Like hell it is!”

Matt opened the door to his and Clara’s room and poked his head out. “What’s going on?” he asked in concern.

“Sorry, Matt,” said Rose, gently. “We’re just having a bit of a domestic, that’s all.”

The Doctor closed the distance between them, frowning irritably at the actor. “Go back to sleep, Bafta Boy, this isn’t your problem.”

Looking surprised and a tad stricken, Matt backed down. “I shouldn’t have... Ehm... Good night.” He hurriedly shut the door.

Rose glared at the Doctor. “Matt is a guest! Lay off!”

He put his hands on his hips, returning her ire with equal fervor. “Don’t tell _me_ how to act, Rose. _I’m_ the one who put his arse on the line for you, in case you forgot, so you’d do well to remember your place.”

“My _place?”_ she repeated, incensed. “Legally, this whole HOUSE is my place, and if you want to go back to waiting tables, that’s fine with me!”

“Oh, bugger this!” the Doctor cried, throwing his hands in the air. He strode away from her, tugging at his hair, then back again, eyes gone black with anger. “Bugger this, bugger your family, bugger your mother and your father and all your friends--” He lifted his voice even higher, until it rang against the vaulted ceiling. “That’s right, everybody, I said fuck you all!”

Jackie and Pete came out of their room then, Jackie in a light pink robe and Pete in forest green pajamas. Confusion and annoyance were clear on each of their faces, Jackie looking just as terrifying as her daughter when awakened from slumber, and just as ready to slap the dickens out of him.

“What on Earth is going on?” she said, tugging at the belt of her robe.

“What’s the matter with you?” Pete asked.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” the Doctor spat out, “I just can’t BLOODY SLEEP!”

He flew down the main stairs, grabbing his long coat from the end of the bannister, and slammed out of the house without bothering to find shoes or don proper clothes. Pete sighed.

“I’m going after him.”

Rose made an abortive move with her hand. “No, let him go.” She touched her forehead, rubbing at her temples. “He’ll feel better once he’s blown off some steam. I hope.” She sighed and slowly turned to go back to their bedroom.

“You all right, sweetheart?” asked Jackie. “You look a little peaked.”

“I’m fine,” said Rose, not noticing how soft her voice had become in the wake of the fight. “I just... have a headache and... haven’t slept and...” Her breath slammed out of her as her vision suddenly swam before her. Stumbling, she put out her hand to catch herself against the wall. “And...” Her eyes rolled back in her head as she slumped to the floor.

Jackie and Pete rushed to her side, calling her name.

* * *

_The carnival was small, a bit dingy-looking, and the rides had seen better days, but it was cheap, and the town allowed it as long as the workers stayed to the outskirts. The smell of popcorn and fairy floss just about covered the smell of the petting zoo, motor oil, and people who traveled too long without a proper bath._

_Pete held Iaquihrin’s hand tightly in his as his furtive eyes searched the crowds of merry-makers, looking for anyone with a spark of recognition for the girl at his side. Iaqui, in a plain brown patterned dress and her dark hair pulled back, looked like any normal girl, but she worried her bottom lip, her gaze darting from side to side, anxiously._

_“I know it will do no good,” she said, her accent still prominent, but her words coming more easily. “But I will say again. We do not need to do this. My family is not looking for me. Please, can we leave?”_

_“Family is family, Iaqui,” he said, finally able to pronounce her nickname properly. “With all you’ve been through, they must be worried sick.”_

_“This I doubt,” she said. “We look for a year. If they wanted me found, they would have done it.”_

_“If I were them--”_

_“And you are not.”_

_He ignored that. “I’d at least want to know you were safe. No matter what happened between you before, it can be worked out.”_

_“I know what happened,” she said, darkly. “It cannot be ‘worked out.’ I may not remember what happened, but I know why they left me.”_

_“I know,” he said. “You showed me. But this ridiculous notion of curses--”_

_“My family is not like your family,” she stressed. “Not... mother, father, brother, sister, little puppy, dancing in square boxes on Saturday nights...”_

_“Square boxes?”_

_“You know what I mean, Pete!” she said, frowning. She had worked hard to learn English over the year they’d been together and hated it when he poked fun at her stumbling._

_“Square dancing,” he corrected. “And my family never did it.”_

_“We are different,” she said, not wanting to get side-tracked. “And you do not understand.”_

_“You are NOT cursed,” he said. “You’re different, yes, but cursed?”_

_“I killed GOAT with BARE HANDS.”_

_“That_ was _something else...”_

_She sighed in exasperation. “You are hopeless, stupid man.”_

_“Look, when you have nothing, family is all that’s left.”_

_“This you say, all the time. Why is it so important to you?”_

_“I had a good home and a good life. Forgive me if I want to bring a little of that to the woman I--”_

_He stopped and she lifted an eyebrow, daring him to continue. “Yes? The woman you--?”_

_He continued walking, not looking at her. “...feel... responsible for.”_

_“Ugh,” she said, and he didn’t have to see her face to know the disgusted expression she was making._

_Changing the subject, he tugged her in the direction of some tents where it looked like camp was set up. “Come on, let’s try asking someone over here.”_

_“I give up,” Iaqui muttered._

_As they neared the camp, a large man walked toward them, one hand up to stop them from proceeding further. Pete mirrored him to show he wasn’t there to start trouble._

_“Excuse us,” he said, politely, not wanting to upset the big, hairy beast of a man. “We’re looking for this lady’s family and thought we’d ask--”_

_A clatter of metal on metal drew their attention. A few steps away, an older woman had dropped her dirty pans to the ground in shock. Her hands were against her mouth, her eyes wide. “Iaquihrin?” she exclaimed as she ran over to them. “What are you doing here?”_

_“You know her?” Pete asked Iaqui._

_“Yes,” she said, miserably. “She is my mother. Lidda.”_

_Lidda grabbed Iaqui’s free hand, pulling her forward. “Come, you come back here with me.”_

_Iaqui’s hand in Pete’s tightened, causing him to move ahead a few steps along with her. “Pete comes too!” Iaqui said, her voice suddenly apprehentious._

_Lidda nodded, distractedly. “Yes, yes, but you come now!”_

_They were ushered further into the knot of tents, the sounds of the carnival a distant after thought. Lidda lifted the flap of a dark tent, practically pushing Iaqui inside. Pete followed her in, taking stock of the folding table and portable bed, everything designed for travel._

_“Marin! Come quickly!” Iaqui’s mother called from outside._

_“Who’s she calling for?” asked Pete._

_“My father,” said Iaqui. standing nervously in the center of the tent._

_They heard heavy footsteps approach, stopping nearby. Lidda conversed briefly with a man in their native language, Pete caught Iaqui’s name once. The flap lifted and a bearded man with dark hair and blue eyes entered, his face drained of color as he gazed at his daughter._

_“Hallo, tata,” said Iaqui, quietly._

_He stared, unblinking. “I... I cannot...” His eyes flicked to Pete, narrowing slightly. “Who are you?”_

_Reflexively, Pete’s spine straightened. “Sergeant Peter Tyler, sir.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “I, ehm... met Iaqui in Russia a few years ago.”_

_Recognition sparked in Lidda’s expression. “Ah. You. Sergeant Pete.”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

_“Why you here now?” she asked._

_“Well, I... I found Iaqui in Austria. In a very bad place.” He reached out to take Iaqui’s hand, threading their fingers together. “She said you left her there.”_

_“Yes,” said Marin. “Was a foolish thing to do.”_

_“Yes, sir,” said Pete. “We’ve spent a year trying to track you down.”_

_“Why you do this?” asked Marin._

_“She’s your daughter,” said Pete. “I thought you’d be worried, perhaps want to know what became of her. I feel... responsible for her.”_

_Iaqui gripped Pete’s upper arm with her free hand. “Please,” she said, “do not do this.”_

_He ignored her, intent on finding out their reasons for leaving Iaqui behind. “If I might ask, why was she left in the first place?”_

_“Is our way,” said Marin._

_“That’s not how I’ve heard it,” said Pete. “I thought you lot always stayed together.”_

_The older man nodded. “Is true. But for those in our family who... fall to the curse... You leave. Or...” He sighed, running a hand across his face. “It is good you bring her back. This time we say goodbye right way.”_

_“The right way?” Pete repeated. A cold chill of apprehension skittered down his spine as he was suddenly afraid he might understand the man’s meaning too well. “What are you talking about?”_

_“You must understand,” said Marin, holding out his hands in an imploring gesture. “It is a kindness. Will not hurt. Lidda will give her drink. She will sleep. It will be done in a moment.”_

_Iaqui tugged on Pete’s sleeve. “Please, we go now,” she said, more desperation in her tone._

_“Just hold on!” said Pete, outraged. He glared at the two parents, fairly quivering with anger. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing! Talking about killing your own daughter, right in front of her! This is NOT how you treat family!”_

_“They are right,” said Iaqui, softly._

_“You don’t--” Pete swung around to look at her, his face gone slack in shock. “What?”_

_“They are right,” she repeated, resigned. “It was mistake to come. I hope maybe for small chance to live with them again...” She sighed. “But no. I see this before. With... others in our family.”_

_“How many others?” he asked, dreading the answer._

_“It is madness,” said Lidda from beside her husband. “Sickness. When change begins, only one way to stop.”_

_Pete looked at each of them, shaking his head. “You say I don’t understand, but there’s one thing I do. I’m a soldier. I’ve killed people and watched them die. You_ don’t _let that happen to someone you care about. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it happen to her.” He pulled Iaqui closer, wrapping one arm around her waist. “Come on, Iaqui.”_

_Marin threw out an arm, blocking their path. “You cannot go!”_

_“The hell I can’t.” He went to brush past him when Lidda grabbed his sleeve, her eyes wide and fearful._

_“Please,” she said, “if you stay with her, the curse finds you, too!”_

_“I don’t believe in curses,” said Pete._

_“You are fool man,” said Marin._

_“That’s a popular belief.” Pete pushed past them both, tugging Iaqui behind him, but Marin grabbed her wrist, halting their progress._

_“You will not leave! I forbid it!”_

_“Let her go!” said Pete._

_“She does not belong to you!” said Marin._

_Faced with losing Iaqui to these people that would destroy her, anger, fear, and possessiveness all bubbled up at once, blocking out Pete’s finer thought processes. His vision went red as he bared his teeth and a ferocious growl tore from his throat._

__“Meu Dumnezeu!” _cried Lidda, making a sign with her hand to ward off evil._

_Pale and paralyzed, Marin dropped Iaqui’s wrist from his nerveless hand. Pete stood there, pinning the man with his gaze, darkened to deep sapphire, warning him without words never to lay a hand on her again. Iaqui pulled at him, eager to leave the camp._

_“Pete, come,” she said, her voice shaking. “We go. We go_ now.” __

_He blinked, her words bringing him back to himself. “Yeah... yeah,” he said, somewhat dazed, surprised at his own behavior._

_He allowed Iaqui to take the lead as they quickly left the carnival. “I... growled,” he said after a few minutes, in which he determined he had not imagined his reaction. “I was... going to say something... And that’s all that came out.” He half-grinned, picking up his pace a bit to walk beside her. “It worked, though. Did you see how fast he backed off?”_

_“Yes,” said Iaqui, still looking at him with frightened eyes. “It worked. Come, we go.”_

_“Where?”_

_“Away from here.”_

* * *

_It had been raining for the past five hours and pouring for the last two. Iaqui sloshed irritably through the mud that had once been a dirt road as Pete trailed along behind her. Both of them were soaked to the skin, and they were utterly lost._

_“I could have sworn there was a town just a mile ahead,” Pete muttered, glaring up at the storm clouds._

_“You say that two miles ago,” said Iaqui, not bothering to look back._

_“Then we’ve got to be close,” said Pete, trying for optimism. “The rain’s just making it hard to see.”_

_Iaqui huffed and sat down on a large rock near the roadside. “I go no further. I have exhaust!”_

_“You what?”_

_“Tired!” she exclaimed. “I am wet, cold, and tired! You have take me up and down this whole map, look for family that does not want me, and I am_ tired!” __

_Pete laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “All right, easy, I understand that you’re exhausted.” Lightning flashed, illuminating the area for a brief moment, and he caught sight of a building a short way down the road. “Look,” he said, pointing. “Maybe we can wait out the rain in there.”_

_She sighed. “Fine.”_

_He helped her to her feet and together they walked to what turned out to be an old church. The windows were dark. Pete tried the door handles, but they wouldn’t budge. He sighed, then sat down next to Iaqui on the steps. At least the awning would keep them dry._

_“Come here,” he said, moving to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away._

_“You should just leave me here,” she said, wearily._

_“The rain will stop,” he said, knowing she was just acting out of exhaustion. “Then we should be able to see the town. It’s got to be near the church.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m not looking for it without you, I might get lost again.”_

_“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Leave me_ here. _You go back to England. Go before it is too late.”_

_“You’re not making any sense,” he said. “Why would I leave you here after everything we’ve been through?”_

_“I am dangerous to you.”_

_He chuckled. “You’re all of two pounds of nothing at all. I don’t think you’re dangerous to anyone. Except perhaps goats.”_

_She shoved at his shoulder, frowning. “Is not funny! You listen! The curse is on you now! I spread it to you like disease!”_

_“No more of that curse talk!”_

_She surged to her feet, turning around to face him. “No, you_ will listen.” _She pointed at him. “You have the madness in you, too, I can see it. One day, you stay with me and one day, I will lose my mind and change you to what I am.”_

_“How?”_

_“I not know, but I will do it if you stay! You do not know what I am!”_

_“I know exactly what you are!”_

_She threw her arms in the air. “How can you know and still be here? You stay and you stay and you stay, all the time you give up everything for Iaqui. I know army will put you in jail because you are owl.”_

_He shook his head, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think you mean AWOL.”_

_Her mouth tightened. “Don’t make fun of my English. You give up army, you give up home, will you give up soul for Iaqui, too?”_

_“I’m not giving up on you,” he said, firmly, “and I sure as hell am not leaving!”_

_“Why?” she cried in misery. “Do you know the torture you do to me? Every day I think, please God, please do not let me hurt him. Because I not know when the madness will take me. When I look up, will it be you or goat that is dead? And now, the curse will take you, you will suffer, and it is my fault.”_

_“It’s not a curse and it’s not your fault,” he insisted._

_She sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. “If I was good person, I would go, because I am scared for you.” Dropping her hands limply at her sides, she looked at him in utter dismay, shaking her head. “But I cannot. You have to be the one who is strong. You go, please, save your soul.”_

_“I am.” Pete stood up from the steps and moved closer to her. She backed away until she was in the rain again, but still he closed the distance between them. “When a man finally finds his soul, he doesn’t leave it to die in the rain.”_

_She put up a hand to stop him. “No-- no...”_

_He grabbed it, pulling her to him. He placed her hand on his chest, where his heart beat for her. “You are my soul, Iaqui. I don’t care what happens to me. If I know you’re safe, that’s all that matters.”_

_Tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling across her cheeks to mingle with the raindrops. Gently, he tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, tasting water, salt, and the flavor that was uniquely Iaqui’s._

_“You are stupid man,” she murmured against his lips, before leaning up on her toes to kiss him again._


	25. Chapter 25

Pete’s clear blue eyes watched the midnight colored car pull into the drive as the sunrise gleamed over the horizon. He stood up from the wicker porch chair, hands in his jacket pockets, as the Doctor got out of the car, slammed the door, and started toward the house. He halted in mid-stride when he saw Pete, surprised at seeing him waiting.

“Feel better?” asked Pete.

“Not even close.”

Pete shook his head. “I don’t have to tell you how I feel about family, Theta.”

The Doctor’s lips twitched and he started for the door to the house. “Then don’t.”

Pete placed his hand on the Doctor’s sleeve. He didn’t grab his arm, but it was enough to stop the younger man from going past him. “What you did tonight was foolish. Rose asked me to leave you alone, but if you think I’m going to stand by and let you treat my daughter that way, you’re thicker than I thought. Now, I suggest that you--”

“I don’t care what you suggest,” said the Doctor, shaking off Pete’s hand.

Pete lifted an eyebrow. “Say that again?”

“We argued,” the Doctor said, tersely. “I have a right to argue with my wife, and Rose is near enough to that for it to be applicable. I _don’t_ have to take this from you.”

“Arguing is one thing,” said Pete. “Being an arse is another.”

The Doctor shrugged. “The way I see things, being an arse is part of my job. Back off, old man!” He pushed past him and jerked open the door, but paused with one foot on the threshold. “What happened after I left?” he asked, more quietly.

Pete frowned. The Doctor could tell he was disapproving, but chose not to continue the argument. “Rose passed out at the top of the stairs. Could have hurt herself, but she fell against the wall first. We put her back into bed.”

The Doctor didn’t respond, but he hurried into the house, leaving Pete to close the door.

His heart thudded as he moved across the entryway and started up the stairs. His thoughts turned inexorably back to the nightmares about Lania and how they met... how they were parted. He could almost hear her voice from back then, whispering in his ear about fate and things being meant to be. He growled softly in frustration, his face tensing in a grimace, unable to stop her low voice from intruding.

_“I learned a long time ago that if you’re going to get what you want, you have to hunt it down and pounce on it.”_

He pushed open the door to the bedroom. He could see the outline of Rose’s body beneath the duvet, a shock of blonde hair poking up above it on the pillow. She seemed to be getting closer, filling up his vision. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved until he was kneeling on the bed next to her.

A low growl bubbled up from deep within him.

Rose took a deep breath and he watched her chest rise. Her eyes flickered open. “Mm... Doctor?”

Then his hands were reaching out, closing around her neck, slowly cutting off her air. She grabbed his wrists and scratched at his grip, begging him to stop with the breath she had. He snarled fiercely as he crushed her windpipe beneath his hands...

Suddenly, his own voice rang out, “WAKE UP!”

The Doctor awakened with a gasp, his limbs violently jerking. He sat up, his heart pounding in terror. Rose had, of course, also woke up, and she dragged him into her arms as he struggled for breath.

“Doctor! Oh, God, are you all right?”

He wrapped his arms about her and tucked his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent, warm, vibrant, and alive. Hot tears pricked his eyes as he realized it had been another nightmare. “Damn it,” he muttered. This one had been so real...

“Another one?” she asked. “It sounded... terrifying.”

“Yeah,” he said. “In Technicolor.” He pulled away and began untangling his legs from the sheets. “I can’t stay here, I’ll just keep waking you up...”

She grabbed his arm, eyes wide. “No, please, please,” she said. “Don’t leave me again.”

He sighed. “Neither of us will get any sleep if I stay.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

His heart skipped a beat and he covered his face with one hand. “Oh, God, please don’t say that...”

“Please, Doctor,” she begged, her eyes liquid with emotion. “As angry as I was, it was so much worse to have you not be here. Please. I need you.”

He heaved a deep breath, then settled back down into the bed, pulling her against his chest. “I know,” he said, his lips moving against her hair. “I need you, too. I’ll stay, but...”

She waited, but he didn’t continue. “What?”

His thumb moved in circular motions on her shoulder. “I’m afraid,” he admitted, softly.

She shook her head, holding him tightly. “I suppose we’ll be afraid together. Because you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

* * *

Pete came back to his and Jackie’s room, closing the door quietly, but even so, Jackie sat up in bed. He doubted she’d managed to get any sleep.

“Is he back?” she asked.

“Yeah. And still an arse.”

She sighed and lay back as he took off his robe and threw it on the end of the bed. He sat down, rubbing his neck tiredly. “Is this enough for you?” he asked.

“Enough?”

“You’ve seen how it’s effecting them,” he said. “Will you do something now?”

She groaned. “I _told_ you. I left all of that behind me.”

“Iaqui--”

She sat back up, frowning. “There IS no Iaqui! She died when you took in Jackie!”

“I never wanted that,” he said, quietly, too tired to summon the energy to meet her anger. “I don’t care what you say, I know you can see what’s happening. You know that this isn’t normal. You know what’s going on and you could do something about it if you really wanted to.”

She covered her face, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“No, you won’t.” He pulled one of her hands away, kissing the palm. “Are you going to stand by at let that boy go insane? Are you willing to let our girl go through that kind of torment?”

“What do you want of me?” she asked, her other hand falling limply to the bed.

“Try,” he said, his gaze imploring her. “Just try.”

She sighed. “That’s all I can do.”

In the language she’d taught him so painstakingly many years ago, he replied, “That’s all I can ask.”

“Your Romani is STILL awful.”

* * *

As the first class passengers for the flight to Sunderland were called over the loudspeaker, Lynda Tyler stood up and tucked her trashy romance novel into her leopard print carry-on. She turned around to join the queue of people boarding and ran right into a young blond man wearing a green hoodie, making her stumble back a few steps in her tall, faux-fur trimmed boots.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, holding out one hand as though to steady her, but Lynda was a pro at walking in high heels and caught her balance easily. He blinked large blue eyes at her. “Ms. Tyler?”

She gasped, recognizing his face now. “Toady?”

He gave a little grimace of a smile. “Elton Toddy. Right.”

“OhmiGod, Toady, it’s you!” She gave a little hop of excitement. “You’re completely forgiven for the collision, but seriously, next time, watch where you’re going. You could have stepped on my shoes and these are Michael Kors!”

He was staring at her, a bewildered smile hovering on his lips. “I... can’t believe it’s really you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh, you just ran into me.”

“You’re going up North, too?”

“Ugh, yes. Rose is getting married or something. What a pain.”

He nodded. “Right, she’s your sister.” He smiled. “What a weird coincidence.”

“That we’re from the same uterus? Yeah, I know. Creepy.”

“I’m going to the wedding, too,” he said.

Lynda blinked. “You are?” Her brow furrowed and she took a step back. “Wait, that’s kind of creepy, too. Do you even _know_ my sister?”

“I’m a friend of a friend.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, whew, okay, because for a second there, I thought you might be stalking me and I have enough of _those.”_

The flight attendant at the desk called for the first class passengers a final time over the loudspeaker and Lynda clutched her purse to her chest, rifling through the contents.

“That’s me,” she said to Elton. A frown creased her forehead between her eyebrows. “Oh, my God.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes huge and upset. “Oh... miGOD!”

“What?” he asked. “Can’t find your ident?”

“No!” she said, stomping her foot. “I can’t find my Gold card! I must have left it at the airport bar, damn it! My identity’s probably been stolen already! This so totally sucks!”

“Well... I...” Elton looked behind him in the direction of the restaurants and gift shops, then back at Lynda. “Go ahead and board,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked as he hefted his knapsack onto his back.

“I’m going to hope I make the flight.” That said, Elton tore through the terminal, dodging people and luggage trolleys left and right.

* * *

Lynda sat on the edge of her leather first class seat, nervously tapping her manicured nails on the arm rest. She’d watched as the rest of the passengers boarded the plane, but no sign of Toady. A flight attendant picked up the receiver near the door and spoke into it, her voice coming through the first class speakers,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are almost finished boarding and will begin champagne service as soon as we are in the air.”

Lynda bit her lip, beginning to think that regaining her Gold card might be a lost cause, when, through the little window, she saw the gangway begin to shake. The tremors were accompanied by a rhythmic _slap-slap-slap_ of trainers on metal.

“Hold that plane!!”

Lynda smiled. “Toady!”

Seconds later, he appeared in the door of the airplane where he stopped and bent in half, sucking in air like he’d been underwater. He held up his ticket to the surprised flight attendant, who checked he was on the right plane, while he caught his breath.

“I believe this ticket is for coach, sir,” said the woman, politely.

“I know,” he said, then took another gulping breath. “I know.” He straightened and gestured toward Lynda. “I have something for one of your first class passengers.”

The flight attendant nodded. “Very well, but please make it quick, we need to get everyone seated for take off.”

Elton quickly went to Lynda’s seat and knelt down so she wouldn’t have to stand. She shook her head in wonder. “You ran all the way back to the bar?” she asked.

He nodded. “Uh huh.” He was still trying to find his breath.

“Did you find it?”

With a smile, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a gold credit card. “Ta da.”

Lynda squealed, grabbing it from him. “OHMIGOD, TOADY! You are amazing!” Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and quickly pecked his cheek. When she pulled back, his face was bright red, clashing with the pink mark her lipstick had made on his skin. He ducked his head and awkwardly laughed.

“I totally owe you,” she said. “Oh, my GOD, what can I give you? I’d give you, I don’t know, some of my hand cream, but they took it at bag check. But I HAVE to give you something because this is like, so totally...” She extended one hand as she made an expressive noise, since words were not enough at that point.

He shook his head, his eyes still trained on the floor. “No, no, I was glad to do it.”

She scoffed. “Seriously, you are making me feel so guilty right now.” She shoved at his shoulder. “Something. Anything. Come on, Toady.”

He glanced over at the flight attendant who tapped her watch. Pressed into making a decision, he looked up at Lynda. “Well... there is one thing, maybe...”

She grinned. “Anything!”

“Could you... be my date... for the wedding?” His red flush was back, but it was tempered by his hopeful smile.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“As a favor,” he said. “I don’t want to be the only one by myself.”

She pursed her lips, thinking about it. “But... you’re the friend of a friend. Don’t you have, like, friends that will be there, friends of your friend?”

“Two of my friends are going to be there, but really...” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “They are so gay for each other. And everyone else is a couple. Please, I really don’t want to be the only single guy.”

“Yeah, I see where that could suck.” She didn’t really have a date either, Lynda had been thinking of pulling someone at the hotel to bring with her. Toady wasn’t completely repellant, but really... her old assistant? Something about it struck her as being potentially lame.

“So, will you do it?” he asked.

The flight attendant came by then and touched his shoulder, pulling their attention. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, politely but firmly. “I’m going to have to ask you to sit down now.”

Elton sighed. “All right.” He stood up.

“Wait!” said Lynda, grabbing his sleeve. She worried her bottom lip for a second, then took a deep breath and made a decision. “Okay. No worries. I’ll be your ‘date.’”

“Really?” he said, his eyes bugged. A huge grin split his face. “Cheers!”

She returned his smile, half-heartedly, as he left the first class area. Sitting back in her seat, she ran her fingers over the credit card, hoping that she hadn’t made the wrong choice.

* * *

Lynda had forgotten about Elton ten minutes into the champagne service. It wasn’t until she was standing at the curb, waiting for the luggage porter to find her a cab, and Elton ran up to her that she remembered what she’d said on the plane.

“Toady, oh yeah, I almost forgot about you...” She glanced away, but no taxi was in sight yet.

He set down his duffle, breathing like he’d run all the way from the plane, but smiled at her. “Want to share a cab to your sister’s?” he asked.

“Uh...” Being stuck in close confines with him for the time it would take to get to Bothal was not a fun idea. “Well, actually...” Her eyes brightened as she realized she wasn’t actually going right to the house. “I’m not going there. Yeah, I’m going to my hotel in Blyth. So, it wouldn’t make any sense to share a car together.”

“Oh...” He was obviously disappointed and she worked to snuff out a twinge of guilt. “But I will see you there, right?”

“Of _course_ you will,” she assured him. “Everyone will see me.”

“But I mean--”

The cab pulled up beside her then and the porter took her bag to put it in the boot. “There’s my taxi!” Lynda said with a smile. “Byeee, Toady!”

She climbed into the cab’s interior with an airy little wave. With a disappointed smile, Elton returned it, then went to find his own taxi, shoulders hunched against the northern wind as much as the chill from Lynda.

* * *

Rose, Clara, Amy, and River all sat around the kitchen’s island, tiny plates of cake samples spread out before them in various stages of being eaten. Although Rose was actually just pushing bits of cake around on her plate, looking vaguely green around the gills as she looked at the frosting-coated concoction.

Finally, she set down her fork and looked away from the samples that had yet to be tried, one thousand percent done. “I feel like I’ve eaten every piece of cake in the world,” she said.

“We’re almost finished,” said Clara, encouragingly. “Then, you can pick your favorite.”

“Favorite?” Rose repeated, incredulously. “I now hate all cake. Why are we even getting one? I’m not going to eat any!”

“It’s tradition,” said Clara. “Your guests will eat it. And it HAS to go to order today.”

“Otherwise, you WILL get a sheet cake from Tesco’s and Clara will have a coronary,” said Amy.

“I would not,” said Clara, but even she didn’t sound too sure.

“Maybe you’ll get one of those ‘special’ cakes,” Amy teased. “One that says ‘Hapy Weeding Under Neat That Ruse and the Dokter’ on it.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” said Clara, horrified.

“But I have to!” said Amy, grinning. “It’s the expression on your face that’s giving me joy and a reason to stand up and walk again!”

“Can’t we just go with chocolate and leave it at that?” mumbled Rose.

“Just don’t get mango,” said River, frowning at some distant memory. “Mango cake and fondant icing tastes like... perfume and plastic. Jack’s mother gave that dear gift to _us_ on our wedding... Luckily, it was so hot in California that day, the entire cake melted and all we were left with were the crystal swans that were supposed to go on top of the thing. We had wedding ice cream. Of course, it was more like soup by the time we got it...”

“That’s horrible!” exclaimed Clara.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said River. “The catered food was still frozen in the middle, the only thing that survived was the tray of shrimp, and that’s _because_ they were still frozen. I swear, people were putting those poor fish in their drinks because there wasn’t any more ice.”

Amy made a face. “Fish in a beverage? How could they drink that?”

“Well, when it’s one hundred and four degrees in the shade, you’ll drink just about anything so long as it has a bit of a chill to it,” said River.

“Come on,” said Rose, “it couldn’t have been that bad.”

River scoffed, shaking her head. “Wait until Jack and the boys get back from the tailor’s, he’ll tell you all about it. We had to run out to a Costco and get fourteen trays of macaroni and cheese, just so people could have an entree of some kind. And that was just the reception. The actual ceremony made it look like a gala event.”

“What happened?” asked Rose.

River considered, then held up her index finger. “Let me preface this by saying, Jack did not have the brightest of friends.” Placing her hand back on the table, she went on, “The tailor who made up the groomsmen suits had the names switched around. Now, you’d think that the men would be smart enough to put on the suit that fits them, but oh, no... They put on the suit that had their name on it, regardless of how it looked. So, we had some men with sleeves down to their knees, and others that looked like they were wearing a vest top!”

Rose and Amy dissolved into laughter while Clara looked stricken, her eyes wide as she stared at River. “Are you serious?” she asked.

“As the plague,” said River. “The bridesmaids’ dresses were orange instead of peach and not even finished yet! The sleeves were held on with safety pins and the hems were coming all unravelled, oh, it was awful. Plus, I’m pretty sure our preacher was pissed, because at the reception, he stripped down to his Speedo and plunged into the pool.” She shrugged. “Of course, that could have been because of the heat...”

“I am _so_ sorry,” said Clara.

River blinked at her, then smiled genuinely. “Sweetie, that was the best day of my life,” she said, warmly.

Rose looked at the honesty and love on River’s face and nodded. The wedding trappings didn’t matter, all that counted was the man beside her at the altar. “I believe it.” She took a deep breath. “By the way, everyone, I’m sorry for the yelling last night.”

“It’s natural,” said River. “Everyone falls prey to nerves before the big day.” She shook her head lightly. “I just never really saw Theta-- the Doctor-- as a really aggressive type...”

All four of them looked up as the doorbell rang. Rose stood up. “I’ll get it,” she said, heading out of the kitchen. “I need a break.”

As she approached the front door, a loud knocking startled her and she rolled her eyes, knowing there was only one prat who could be _that_ impatient. She opened the door, giving a closed-mouth smile to the tall, ginger haired man on the other side. “Tony.”

“Going to leave your family standing out here in the cold all night?” he asked, with his customary rudeness.

“No, just you,” she said, answering in kind.

A blue-eyed woman with honey-blonde hair ducked out from behind him, going to Rose with her arms outstretched. “Rose!” she cried, enfolding her sister-in-law in a warm hug.

“Hello, Romana, nice to see you, too.”

Romana smiled broadly, holding Rose at arms length and letting her gaze sweep over her. “Oh, look at you! Don’t you look as pretty as a new soda fountain!”

Rose grinned, despite herself. “You always knew how to turn a phrase.” She stepped back to allow them entry and Romana set to work divesting herself of her winter garments. Tony followed, carrying several pieces of luggage like they weighed nothing at all.

“Where’s this fiancé of yours?” asked Tony, looking around the entryway. “I thought he’d be around to greet the family as they arrive.”

“The Doctor’s upstairs, sleeping,” said Rose. “Had a rough couple of nights. Nightmares.”

“Mm,” was Tony’s response. “Where’s mum and dad?”

“Oh, so you know they’re not dead,” said Rose, glad she didn’t have to explain the situation to someone else.

“Who do you think helped them get their new identities?”

“Nice,” said Rose. “I guess working for the government has _some_ perks.”

“Mum told me a lot of things when she called about the wedding,” he said, lifting an eyebrow significantly.

“So... you know?” Rose asked.

“Yeah. I know.” He gave her a half-smile. “Always wondered why we butted heads as kids. I guess it’s because we each wanted to be the alpha.”

“Thank you for starting your own pack,” said Rose. “I couldn’t stand it if you were in mine.” She looked over her shoulder. “No offense, Romana.”

“None taken!” Romana removed the last of her layers, looking suddenly small without the heavy pink overcoat and jumper over her pale dress.

“So, where are they?” Tony repeated.

“They went to drop off my dress for last minute alterations,” said Rose.

“Why didn’t you go?” asked Romana.

“Because I have _cake_ to contend with,” Rose said, gesturing down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Come, have some, for the love of God. We’ve got wine and beer, too. I’m just going to go upstairs and check on the Doctor.”

When she eased open the door to the bedroom, he was laying on his side with his back to her. She padded over on bare feet. As the mattress depressed under her weight, the Doctor took a deep breath in and rolled onto his back, his eyes cracking open to look at her.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. The dark circles beneath his eyes remained and he still looked tired.

“Hi,” she said, giving a tentative smile. The argument was still hovering at the back of her mind, putting her on edge, even though they weren’t fighting anymore. “Did you sleep?”

“I did. Some.”

“Do you feel better?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit. “Yeah. I just needed some rest.”

“Good.” She traced a random pattern on the sheet with one fingertip. “By the way, my brother Tony and his wife Romana showed up. He might be a bit of a prat, so... fair warning.”

“Okay. Good to know.”

“Mm.” She paused for a moment, not meeting his eyes as she chewed on her thumbnail. Finally, she asked in a rush, “Do you want to go through with this?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his brows drawing together.

“Then, _what?”_

He sat up with a sigh, dragging a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “I don’t know. Something’s just... been bothering me. Telling me in the back of my head that this might be a bad idea. And I don’t know why.”

“Sounds like cold feet.”

He pressed his lips together, uncertain, but he nodded. “You’re probably right.”

She hesitated, looking at him through her eyelashes almost shyly. “Do you... want me to help warm them up?” she asked, tentatively suggestive. She watched as about a dozen different emotions flashed across his face, the usual ones, and ones she was not so familiar with coming from him.

“Uh... Not... right now,” he said, with difficulty, looking down at the duvet.

Her mouth fell open slightly. “What?”

He gestured toward the door with a nod of his head. “I’ll... meet you downstairs.”

“Oh.” She stared at him in utter confusion. When he refused to meet her gaze, she looked away. “Okay,” she said, feeling as though her heart were breaking. She stood up and headed for the door. “See you in a few.”

As the door closed behind her, the Doctor grabbed at his hair, tugging until his scalp hurt. The sound of a woman’s dark laughter echoed through his head and he violently threw himself flat back on the bed. He punched the mattress with a fist, but it brought no relief.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he grit out between clenched teeth in frustration.

* * *

As she made her way slowly down the main staircase, Rose swiped at her nose with the back of one hand, sniffling and fighting the urge to fall apart. The Doctor had never rejected an advance from her, _ever._ What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Was he just concerned about meeting the new guests as soon as possible and that’s why he turned her down?

A knock sounded at the door and she groaned, not wanting to deal with more people at the moment, but she went to answer it anyway. A young, blond man stood on the stoop, he offered a hesitant smile.

“Hi, Ms. Tyler, you may not remember me--”

She stopped him with a tired wave of her hand. “No, no, Elton Toddy, my sister’s old shadow. I remember. Come on in.” She stepped back to allow him inside.

He set his duffle on the floor to begin taking off his winter coat, hat, and gloves. “Thanks for having me.”

“Already you’re an improvement on your friends.” She pointed up the staircase. “Up the stairs, to the right, second door on your left. You’re all bunking together, I hope that’s all right.”

He shrugged. “Sure, fine with me. By the way, I ran into your sister on the plane. She left for her hotel as soon as we landed. Thought you’d want to know she made it okay.”

Rose nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Once you’re settled, come to the kitchen,” she said, gesturing toward the back of the house. “We’re having cake.”

“Great. I love cake.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re in the minority.”

As Elton headed upstairs with his things, Rose went back to the kitchen, which was fairly crowded now, as Jackie and Pete had returned. Rose was glad to see that everyone had a plate with a cake sample, which meant less for her to eat.

“No, I think it’s a lovely dress,” Jackie was saying. “Just... maybe a little much for Rose.”

“She was never one for the really fancy things,” said Pete.

“What do you mean, fancy?” asked Clara. “We took off all the lace and beading and bows and stuff, it’s just a plain white dress!”

“It’s floor length and shiny,” said Pete. “With one of those scratchy things underneath.”

“Petticoat,” said Clara, River, and Jackie all at once.

“And I’m not saying she won’t look good in it,” said Jackie, “I’m just saying it doesn’t exactly look like Rose.”

“Hello,” said Rose, wiggling her fingers, as everyone turned to see her in the doorway. “Walked in about a minute ago.”

“Rose!” said Clara. “Didn’t see you--”

“No, please,” said Rose. “Have your conversation about me, in front of me, without me.” She smiled at her parents. “Didn’t hear you two arrive.”

“Through the garage,” said Jackie, indicating the back door with a tilt of her head.

Pete looked at Rose closely, his forehead creasing in concern as he noted her reddened eyes. “Something... wrong, dear?”

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “Worried about the Doctor. He’s...” She looked up at the ceiling so tears wouldn’t fall, but she couldn’t help the ache growing in her chest. “It’s like he’s right in front of me, but he’s ten thousand miles away. Like he’s looking right through me.”

“Oh, love,” said Amy, setting her plate down, ready to wheel her chair right over to her friend for a hug.

Clara was already moving in that direction, wrapping her arms around Rose. “Oh, Rose, don’t cry!”

“I’m not!” Rose said, but she blinked and her eyes overflowed. She dashed them from her face with her fists. “Damn it, I’m not...”

Pete set his own cake plate down. “Do you want me to go talk to him?”

“No, God, please, don’t,” said Rose, stretching out a hand to stop her father. “I don’t want a big scene over cold feet.”

“That’s fine,” said Tony. _“I’ll_ go light a fire under his arse.”

“Tony!” Rose grabbed at his arm as he passed by, but he brushed her off and continued toward the stairs.

“Rose, you know your brother,” said Jackie. “There’s not a force on this planet that’ll stop him now.”

Pete put one arm around his daughter and kissed the top of her head. “You stay here with your friends. Jacks and I will wait in the hall for damage control.”

Rose nodded gratefully and her parents followed after her brother. Clara rummaged in the refrigerator for a moment as Rose rubbed at her eyes.

“Here, Rose,” said Clara, turning back to her.

“Clara, I appreciate the thought,” said Rose, “but I don’t want cake or ice cream or cheesy chips!”

“I know. Have this.”

Rose looked down at the cellophane package in her friend’s hand. Clara was holding a large, juicy steak on a neat styrofoam package. With a watery smile, Rose flung her arms around Clara.

“I love you.”

* * *

The Doctor was buttoning up a fresh Oxford when someone knocked at the bedroom door. Assuming it was Rose checking up on him again, he sighed. “I said I’d be down in a minute.”

A man’s voice answered, “Well, I couldn’t wait that long, _sweetheart.”_ The door opened revealing, not Rose, but a tall, well-built, ginger-haired man with a scowl on his face. He looked like a young version of Pete, just with more hair. He entered the room, securely shutting the door behind him.

“Let me guess,” said the Doctor. “Tony, right?”

“Give the man a prize,” said Tony. “You’re not as dumb as you look.” Before the Doctor could respond to that, the larger man crossed his arms and pinned him with a dark look meant to intimidate. “I don’t know how things are done wherever the hell you come from, but when the family of the bride shows up, the groom is downstairs to meet them.”

“Where I’m from,” the Doctor shot back with a bit of a growl, “the brother of the bride doesn’t come upstairs to take the piss out of the groom in his bedroom. It would be considered rude.”

“That’s fascinating,” said Tony, in a voice that said he really couldn’t care less. “You’ve upset my sister. I’m going to cut to the chase and ask you what the fuck your problem is.”

“It’s none of your business,” said the Doctor, finishing the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh, I think it is,” said Tony. “As I want to make sure she isn’t marrying an intellectually deviant cockwad with an attitude problem. I deal with knobheads like you all the time, so we can do this the easy way, where you tell me what the hell is wrong with you, or the hard way, where I beat the crap out of you.”

The Doctor scoffed. “Think you could keep up?”

Tony sighed, as though he were dealing with a particularly slow toddler. “Look, I know you’re new to the whole alpha thing, so I’m going to give you a little free advice.” He looked the Doctor up and down before stating, dismissively, “Don’t get into a dick swinging contest where you’re clearly outclassed.”

The two men growled at one another, posturing as they stared each other down. It only took a few tense moments before the Doctor realized, he might have a few years on Tony in age, but Tony had been the alpha of his pack for much longer than the Doctor had. He might have a few fair points... not that he was going to admit it aloud.

“...fine,” the Doctor said, turning toward the closet to select a tie.

“That’s what I thought,” said Tony. “So, what’s your damage?”

The Doctor kept his eyes on his wide selection of ties. “I’ve been a prick.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been having these dreams... Nightmares.” He shook his head, frustrated. “They’re playing with my mind. Making me think that I shouldn’t marry Rose. Every time I look at her, I start feeling... anger, rage, violent... But it doesn’t feel like... _my_ rage.”

“All right,” said Tony, cocking his head to the side as he attempted to understand what he was being told. “You’re either being unintentionally vague, or you want me to hit you.”

The Doctor shrugged, selecting the brown tie with the light blue floral pattern. “I really can’t explain it any better than that.”

Tony briefly looked at the ceiling, then sighed. “I’m only going to say this once. Not marrying Rose would be a very bad idea. And the only way you’d get out of it, is if you’re dead. So, as much as I’d be happy to oblige you with that option, you know as well as I do that you’re hard-wired to be with her. It’s just the way we are.” He stepped closer to the Doctor, filling the space with his dominating presence. “But you can’t just toss marriage around because of that. Break my sister’s heart, and I break your neck. And trust me, that is a _very_ difficult injury to heal on your own. Are we clear?”

“You’re an arse,” said the Doctor.

“I’m a protective arse,” Tony clarified. “It’s sort of the brother’s job to disapprove of the groom, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to hold you accountable. You have a few bad dreams and suddenly you want to run away and cry for mummy? Well, tough shit. It’s time to be an adult. So, nut up or shut up.”

“Doctor?” Rose’s voice drifted up from downstairs and both men turned toward the sound. “I think your parents just pulled into the drive.”

The Doctor sighed and slung his tie around his neck. “This is just what I don’t need right now.”

* * *

Tony went downstairs, but the Doctor paused at the top of the staircase, watching with a frown as Rose showed the two new guests in. His mother, Sarah Jane, still belying her true age due to the longevity she was afforded, had dark hair with only a few gray strands here and there and light lines touching her mouth and the corners of her blue eyes. His step-father, Alistair, however, looked at least a decade or more older than his wife, with hair that had gone completely white. The Doctor looked at the man’s full beard, noting absently that he’d only had a stupid little mustache the last time he’d seen them.

“...not a single word for years,” Alistair was saying, gruffly, as they brought in their luggage and began taking off their coats.

“Oh, now that’s not true,” said Sarah Jane, gently. “Theta always sent us a Christmas card and called me every Sunday.”

“Yes, he called _you_ every Sunday,” Alistair emphasized. “And now, suddenly, he’s getting married!”

Sarah Jane smiled at Rose. “Where would the lovely bride be?”

“Oh, that’s me!” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I’m Rose.”

“OH, _you’re_ Rose!” exclaimed Sarah Jane, coming forward to take both of Rose’s hands in hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you! I’m Sarah Jane, this is Alistair.” She took a step back and made little circular motions with her fingers. “Well, turn around, let’s have a look at you!”

“Uhm... okay...” said Rose, awkwardly turning in a circle.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and made a soft sound of displeasure before descending the stairs. “Ugh, mum, she’s not on display.”

Alistair frowned at him as he approached. “We flew six hours to get here. The least you could do is say hello.”

“I’m sorry. Hello.” He paused, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Thank you for coming, Alistair,” he said, knowing it was expected.

“Don’t start, you two,” said Sarah Jane with a stern look at both of them. “I am _determined_ that this be a nice family week.” She turned back to Rose, her expression softening. “This dear creature deserves a beautiful wedding!” She clasped her hands together, her eyes going a bit watery. “Oh, Theta,” she breathed. “She’s perfect.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” grumbled Alistair. “You’ve barely met the girl.”

“ALISTAIR.” Sarah Jane’s eyes narrowed at her husband. “You will behave yourself or else you will get right back on that plane to Italy, you understand me?”

Alistair grunted, shifting his gaze to the floor. Sarah Jane nodded her satisfaction at the response and turned to her son. She took him by the hand to lead him over to their luggage. “Now, Theta. Here are our things...” She instantly lowered her voice to a whisper, “Wonderful choice, dear. She looks to have a nice healthy baby bucket.”

“MUM!” cried the Doctor, jerking away from her.

Sarah Jane planted her hands on her hips. “Well, I can tell you right now, she’s a fine improvement over the rest of the women you kept company with!”

“Oh, my God,” moaned the Doctor, putting his head in his hands. “I was fifteen...”

“Skinny little toothpicks without a scrap of meat on them!” Sarah Jane went on, as if she hadn’t heard him. She gestured back to Rose with a wide smile. _“This_ one looks like she can carry _many_ grandchildren!”

“Um... thanks?” said Rose, not quite sure how she should respond to that, other than flushing bright red, which she did.

Sarah Jane went back to Rose, waving a hand at the Doctor. “You can show Alistair up to our room while Rose and I get to know one another,” she said.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good--” the Doctor began, but Sarah Jane was already dragging Rose away toward the back of the house.

“Now, tell me, dear... How many brothers and sisters do you have?” asked Sarah Jane.

“Well... I’m the middle child of three,” said Rose.

“Three? That’s not bad!”

Rose laughed a bit self-consciously. “Do you... like cake?”

The Doctor looked at his step-father and the two of them wordlessly began gathering up the suitcases. The Doctor wasn’t sure if he would survive the week, between Rose’s brother and his own family.

* * *

Up in the frat boys’ bedroom, Elton busied himself with putting away his things in the drawer of the dresser that had been set aside for him. Lewis was excitedly chattering about his paranormal research while Don sat cross-legged on the floor with his eyes shut, chanting about ‘being one.’

“Has he been like that the whole time?” Elton asked, indicating their black-clad friend.

“Not the whole time,” said Lewis. “Occasionally, it eats and sleeps.”

“Would you two mind?” said Don, in a smooth, zen-like voice. “I am trying to finish my mantra.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” said Elton. “Apparently, there’s cake.”

Lewis got up from his bed and followed Elton out. Don sighed, turned his creepy music up louder, and shifted in place a bit to realign his chakras.

“Finally,” he muttered. “How I can remain in tune with the spirit world with those two plebes running around is beyond my comprehension.” He took in a deep breath. “Ooooooohmmm...”

Suddenly, his iPod player shut off, and Don jumped, startled out of his concentration. Kneeling before him, blue eyes flashing with angry fire, was Rose’s mother, Jackie.

“What exactly did you do?” she asked with deadly calm.

“Er?” Don glanced over her shoulder. The door was shut. When had she come in? “My dear woman, you will have to be more clear--”

“Don’t play games with me,” she said, in that same hard-edged voice. “There were no spirits here before. I made _sure_ of that. So, what exactly did you unleash in this house?”

“Nonsense,” said Don, beginning to speak in a ‘spooky’ tone. “The spirits were always here, they only lacked the proper conduit--”

Jackie’s hand shot out, pushing Don against the nightstand behind him and holding him there with very little effort on her part. His eyes went comically wide as she growled at him, “Listen to me, you pale Twilight reject! You can drop the act, because you don’t fool me. I _invented_ this act. You are going to tell me what you said, how you said it, and what you DID, down to every last possible detail!”

“L-look, I just... it was...” He was breathing so hard, he could hardly speak, but she noticed his accent had turned much less posh. “Just a basic summoning ceremony... to help Lewis... I was just...” He pointed at the leather bound book near his knee. “H-here, it’s right here...” She let up on her grip and he picked up the book, turning it to the right page before handing it to her.

Jackie scanned the page, her expression darkening with each passing second. “This is what you did?”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

“That’s ALL?” she exploded. “You idiot! Do you even understand Latin?”

“I got the basic jist of--” he began meekly, only to be cut off by Jackie’s powerful slap across his face.

“Who do you think you are, a Winchester?” she exclaimed. “Opening the door to the spirit world without ASKING for anything in particular or even a GUARD against anything malicious is just INVITING trouble! Now, we’re ALL potentially in danger, unless I can figure out a way to get them to go back.” She pointed a talon-like finger at him. “And YOU are going to HELP me. And then you are NEVER going to play with fire again. You understand?”

Don gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Later, after everyone else had gone to their rooms, Rose and Sarah Jane sat in the kitchen, talking over the remnants of the cake samples. Well, Sarah Jane was trying the samples, Rose was just making patterns on her plate by smashing the frosting into the sponge. Rose had eventually told Clara to just get chocolate with a plain white frosting, she was so sick of cake by then, she wasn’t interested in choosing anything more fancy.

“I’m glad everyone else went to bed for the night,” Sarah Jane was saying as she smiled at Rose. “Gives us more time together.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Rose, her gaze intent on her plate. She hadn’t said much that evening, except to answer her future mother-in-law’s questions.

Sarah Jane tilted her head at Rose. “What’s wrong, dear? You seem distracted.”

Rose’s head shot up, blinking in surprise. “Oh. Uh... sorry.”

“Do I sense a bit of cold feet?”

Rose looked back down, smooshing frosting between the tines of her fork. “Not from me,” she mumbled.

“Ah,” the older woman said, knowingly. “My boy giving you a bit of heartache, is he?”

“No!” Rose said at once. “No, nothing like that. Well, at least not any more than I can handle.”

Sarah Jane reached across the small kitchen table and patted Rose’s hand. “Don’t worry, dear. Theta may need a bit of pushing in the right direction, but you’ll get the hang of it. Just love him and be firm with him, that’s all it ever takes, you know.”

“I’m going to do my best to make him happy,” said Rose. “Because that’s what he deserves.”

A figure stopped in the doorway. Sarah Jane’s eyes flickered up before returning to Rose, who went on, not knowing. “Half the time, I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m saying, and he sticks by me,” said Rose, looking at her hands as she fidgeted with her fingers. “I owe him so much, and he asks for so little. I can’t imagine a day where I wake up in the morning and he’s not there. I miss him when he walks out of the room. And when he walks back in... it’s like I’m home.”

She laughed softly, looking out the window at the stars twinkling softly in the sky. “I used to think that nothing was beautiful. Least of all, me. But every time he sees me, or looks at me, or talks to me, he always starts it by opening his mouth and saying--”

Two warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind. “Hello, beautiful,” the Doctor whispered into her ear. He closed his eyes on tears, truly moved by what she’d said.

Rose turned in his embrace, reaching her arms up to twine them around his neck. “Doctor... Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her words tumbling out fast. “I understand if you don’t want to get married, we don’t have to, it’s not necessary, we’ve got all these people here, but we can just have a party or something--”

“Shh,” he soothed, trailing his fingers through her hair. He pulled her up out of her chair and fully into his embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said, his lips at her ear, murmuring just so she would hear. “I never wanted to make you feel like this. You are the only person I ever want to marry. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for this week. All right?”

“You don’t--” Rose began, but he shushed her again.

He bent and gathered her into his arms, holding her close to his heart. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before she nestled her face against his neck. “Let’s go to bed,” he said as he turned to leave the kitchen. “Good night, mum,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Sarah Jane smiled, proudly. “That’s my boy.”


	26. Chapter 26

Rory paced in the hallway outside the door to the den he and Amy were sharing. Each time his footsteps took him near the room, he could hear Amy through the wooden door, slamming dresser drawers and muttering as she used the wheelchair to get around. He knew she was upset and that he should leave her alone to cool off, but she would be leaving with the other girls for the bachelorette party soon.

Deciding he couldn’t wait, he went to the door and eased it open. “Hey,” he said, drawing out the word as he slipped inside. He leaned against the door, closing it with his back. He offered a tentative smile, but Amy just continued cramming clothing into an overnight bag.

“Hey,” she returned, shortly.

Moving away from the door, he sat on the edge of the bed, his palms on his knees. “Whatcha doing?”

“What does it look like?” she asked. “I’m packing.”

“Right.” He paused, trying to find a good way to broach the subject. _“How_ are you doing?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“That doesn’t sound fine.”

“Maybe because I’m not!” she burst out, then sighed again, making an abrupt motion with one hand. “Just leave it.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” he said.

“You couldn’t just--” She turned, snapping green eyes to him, her mouth in a furious line. “Not that big a deal? I took three steps! And that doesn’t seem like a big deal to you? Well, let me fill you in... IT IS!”

Rory held up his hands as though trying to calm a wild animal. “It’s just a tough day, everyone has those. Maybe you just need to relax a bit?”

Amy pointed at him with a hand that still held a shirt. “If _one_ more person tells me to relax, I’m going to stab them in the eyes!”

“Amy, look--” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it out of reach.

“No, you look!” she said, tossing the shirt into the bag. “I took twelve steps yesterday. Today it should have been thirteen. It was _three.”_

“I know, that happens sometimes,” he said, gently. “Let me help you.”

She shook her head. “You’re not always going to be there to help.”

“Marry me, Amy.” They stared at one another, silence stretching between them. He hadn’t wanted to blurt it out like that, not the most elegant way to propose to a girl. He had no choice but to go with it now. He swallowed, blinking a few times. “I can be there for you. Will you marry me?”

Amy’s face had flushed bright red. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just as he opened his mouth, she exploded with, “What the crap kind of proposal is that?”

Suddenly, Rory was aware of what a huge mistake he’d made, facing an upset Amy without a plan. “Uh...”

“Oh, you feel like shit, so marry me,” she said in a high, mocking voice, pressing her hands together. “Because that’ll fix everything!”

“I didn’t mean it like that--” he said, quickly, but she was clearly not listening.

“It doesn’t work like that!” she said, angling the wheelchair close to the bed, making him stand up to avoid getting his toes rolled over. “What, do you think I’ll say ‘I do’ and suddenly my fairy godmother will show up and poof! I’ll be able to walk again?”

“I know it doesn’t work that way!” he said, over her last words.

“Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but fuck off!” She waited while he stared down at her, mouth gaping like a fish. She wheeled the chair closer, forcibly edging him to the door. “Seriously! Fuck off! Get out!”

“Okay, okay!” he said, hopping to the door to save his toes. “If that’s what you need...”

The door closed behind him and Amy slammed her fist into the bed, which wasn’t very satisfying at all. It didn’t even make a noise. Grabbing a pillow, she pressed it to her face and screamed into it, wishing she could kick something.

Rory dejectedly made his way into the kitchen where the rest of the men were gathered. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sat down hard next to Matt at the table. Mickey was handing out the itinerary for their evening. Rory barely looked at the plane ticket.

“Why are we going clear across England for a bachelor party?” Tony asked. “It’ll take an hour to get to the airport, at least an hour in the air, and then another bloody hour to get out of the airport and into the city! And that’s if we’re lucky. Why don’t we skip all this bollocks and just go to a bar in town?”

“Because the only stripper in Blyth is seventy three years old, bless,” said Mickey. “And as sweet as Bertha is, I really don’t think the Doctor needs to see THAT on his second to last night of freedom.” He shuddered slightly. “Though, I will say... that old lady _can_ move.”

“The fact that you’ve gone and seen her disturbs me more than a little,” said Tony, making a face.

“I had to check out the local talent,” said Mickey, in his defense. “It’s my duty as the best man.”

“You’re a twisted individual.”

Matt looked at Rory, who’d put his head down on his arms on the table. “Did you do it?” he asked, poking his brother’s shoulder.

“Yep,” came the muffled reply.

“And...?”

“She told me to fuck off.”

Matt winced. “Ouch. Didn’t go as planned, then?”

“What plan?”

Matt grabbed a wine bottle from the end of the table. “Drink?”

Rory lifted his head. “God, yes.”

* * *

Upstairs, Rose was doing her best to open and close drawers as quietly as possible. As she packed her overnight bag, she kept one eye on the Doctor while he shifted restlessly beneath the sheets. She stilled as he muttered something, then rolled over. Slowly, his eyes cracked open and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Rose?” he said, his voice rough.

Relieved that he wasn’t awakened by a nightmare this time, she went to his side and sat down. “Hey, love,” she said, softly.

He reached around her lap with the arm closest to her, his fingers tracing light circles on her hip. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, offering a slight smile.

“Sorry I woke you,” she said, but he shook his head.

“I wasn’t really sleeping,” he said, “just lying down with my eyes shut.” He looked at the bag at the end of the bed. “Getting ready for the trip?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Clara says the flight leaves in a few hours, so we’re taking off pretty soon.”

“I should get up,” he said. “Find out what Mickey has planned.” He groaned as he sat up and Rose shifted to accommodate him. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, grimacing. “I should feel more excited than this, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re tired,” said Rose, gently.

He stretched, leaning his head back, then wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Ducking his face into the curve of her neck, he took a deep breath. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No. They haven’t told me yet, which makes me rather suspicious.”

“I... don’t want you to leave,” he said, quietly, rubbing his lips back and forth across her collarbone.

“It’s just one night,” said Rose, smiling.

“You know me,” he said. “A couple of hours without you in my arms, and it feels like I’ll never see you again.”

She pressed a kiss to his tousled hair. “Sappy romantic.” He lifted his head with a smile for a proper kiss, which she gave him. “I hope these nightmares stop soon,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh, _you_ hope they do?” he said.

“You know what I mean.” She tucked her tongue into the corner of her mouth, teasing him. “I’m starting to miss my growly sexy Doctor.”

“Mm,” he hummed, giving her earlobe a light nip. “I don’t think you really want to see growly Doctor at the moment. He just might bite your head off.”

Rose smiled, kissing him again before moving off of the bed so he could get up. “How about... I call you?” she asked. “Later on this evening. Sound good?”

He nodded as he got to his feet. “I’d like that very much.”

She turned to pick up her bag and he grabbed her hand, pulling her to him again, his arms wrapping around her back. Her hair brushed his face and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, his nose buried against her shoulder.

“Don’t go,” he said in a tight voice.

“Doctor--”

He straightened, shaking his head, before she could even finish. “Never mind,” he said. He smiled down at her because he could see the worry in her eyes. Gently, he ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I love you.”

Tentatively, she returned his smile. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Mickey was just hanging up his mobile when the Doctor finally made it into the kitchen, straightening his tie, but still looking a bit rough around the edges. He winced and rubbed his eyes as Mickey exuberantly proclaimed him the man of the hour.

“Yeah, hi,” he returned. Gamely, he smiled, knowing his friend was going through a lot of trouble to put on a stag night for him. “We all set?”

“Just about,” said Mickey. “The car service should be here soon to pick us up, so we should all make sure we’ve got everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?” asked the Doctor.

“I need to see how many small notes I have,” said Mickey. “Otherwise, we’ll need to drop by a bank.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes as Elton not-so-subtly sidled up to Tony, who was standing against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, not appearing interested in the conversation.

“The girls are going out tonight too, aren’t they?” Elton asked the elder Tyler sibling. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie awkwardly. “Does that mean... Lynda will be here soon?”

“One hopes,” said Tony. “Why?”

“Oh... nothing,” said Elton with a goofy smile. “Just wanted to... say hello and all...”

Tony looked at Elton, his brows coming together in disbelief. “Do you... have a thing for Lynda?”

Elton stared up at the larger man, suddenly realizing this was her older brother he was talking to. “Is that... bad?”

“Well, no, it’s just...” Tony looked Elton up and down. “You don’t really seem like her type... Really? Lynda?”

“It’s not so much a _thing,”_ Elton hastened to explain. “She, um, she promised she’d be my date for the wedding.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow, suddenly rather interested. “She promised?”

“Yeah,” said Elton. “I kind of helped her out and she offered me a favor in return. I didn’t think she’d actually accept...”

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That little...” He looked at Elton with a smile, somehow still managing to unnerve the other man. “Would you excuse me a minute?”

“Uh, sure.”

While the rest of the guys filed out of the kitchen to gather in the front hall, Tony slipped into the empty dining room and pulled out his mobile. He punched a few words into his browser and selected the phone number for the Marriott hotel in Blyth. He held the device to his ear as it rang.

“Hello. I’m calling on behalf of Lynda Tyler. This is her brother, Anthony... Yeah, thanks. I am the major cardholder on the Visa she used. We need to make a few cancellations...”

In the meantime, Matt, Rory, Pete, Mickey, Elton, and the Doctor were getting everyone’s coats sorted from the hall closet prior to their departure. Footsteps on the stairs drew their attention and everyone turned to see Don descending the steps in full gothic regalia. He was wearing black jeans and boots, but above that, he had donned a black velvet jacket with a ruffled black poet’s shirt underneath. Pausing on the final step, he swished his cape around himself.

“I am ready,” he proclaimed, majestically.

The Doctor snorted as he tried to rein in his laughter. “Okay. For what?”

Elton groaned, covering his face with his hands, while Pete, Rory, and Matt sniggered quietly. Mickey, on the other hand, laughed like an arse, bent at the waist.

Don glared at him. “The party, of course. I needed time to prepare.”

Mickey was still laughing as he managed to say, “Oh, yeah, Lestat, you’re haaaaawt!”

Tony hung up with the hotel and waited two minutes with his mobile in his hand for Lynda to call. He grinned as the screen lit up with his sister’s name, answering it in a sarcastically chipper tone, “Lynda. I was expecting your call.”

“What the HELL, Tony!” Lynda exclaimed over the connection. “I can’t _believe_ you! You can’t just cancel my reservations!”

“I’m the major cardholder on your credit card,” he reminded her. “I can do whatever I damn well please.”

“But where am I going to staaaaay?” she whinged.

“Here. With your family. And your _date,”_ he stressed, pointedly. “You remember. Elton?”

“How did you find out about that?”

“Oh, you know, I pick things up,” he said, nonchalantly, before his tone hardened. “That kid put his hopes on you for this weekend, and you’ve gone your merry way without a second thought.”

“You are NOT Dad,” said Lynda. “I only said I’d be his date for the wedding. The wedding isn’t until Saturday!”

“Sucks to be you,” said Tony. “You are going to keep your promise. Are you almost here? I figured even you wouldn’t stay away from Rose’s party.”

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, I’m almost there, but Toooonyyyyy! Why are you being so meeeeean? Please don’t make meeee, you could fix this if you really wanted toooooo...”

“But I don’t waaaaant tooooo,” he whinged back, mocking her tone. “Suck it up!”

“Pleeeease, Tony?” she tried again. “For your favorite sister?”

“YOU are not that sister.”

“But Tonyyyy!”

Tony lifted the corner of a curtain and peered out at the front drive. A taxi was coming to a stop by the front door, followed by a large van. Tony hung up on Lynda and marched out of the house with quick strides, ignoring the other guys who were still poking fun at Don. He opened the door of the cab and hauled Lynda out by her arm.

“You’re coming with me,” he said without preamble, hustling her inside as she protested.

“All right,” Mickey was saying at the doorway. “The van just pulled up! We got babes to see and alcohol to consume! Let’s go!”

“How about you bring it down a couple notches, Mick?” asked the Doctor. “We’re not pissed yet.”

“Look who I found!” Tony announced, drawing everyone’s attention to Lynda, who tried to smile around her uncomfortable expression.

Elton sucked in a breath. “Ms. Tyler! You’re here!”

“Oh, please, call her Lynda, she insists,” said Tony, frog-marching his sister over to Elton. “Look, Elt, can I call you Elt? I wonder if you might help me out with something. Lynda has decided to stay here tonight instead of joining the ladies.”

 _“What?”_ exclaimed Lynda, looking at her brother indignantly.

“Rose?” Tony called up the stairs. “Your sister’s not coming with you lot tonight, that all right?”

Rose poked her head out of a doorway on the second floor, looking down at the assembled crowd below. “Oh... That’s a shame,” she said, trying not to be sarcastic, but failing miserably. As she ducked back inside the room, Amy was heard saying, “Yes!”

“Yeah, looks like you’ll really be missed,” Tony said, looking down at a fuming Lynda. “So, Elt, would you mind terribly keeping her company?”

“Well...” Elton looked between the two Tylers with a delighted grin on his face. “Well, sure! I don’t really care for strip clubs anyway.”

“No one believes that, mate, but cheers just the same,” said Tony. He pushed Lynda toward Elton firmly. “That’s all settled then.” He looked sternly at his sister. “Isn’t it, Lynda?”

Lynda pinched her lips together, then crossed her arms and huffed. “I guess.”

“Great,” said Tony. “Have fun!” He offered a cheery wave as he and the rest of the men shuffled out of the house.

* * *

“Really?” Rose stared at the bright lights of the beachside entertainment strip. “Blackpool? Why?”

With River pushing her along in the wheelchair, Amy said, “It’s the closest to Vegas this side of the Atlantic. And we can do the tourist-y thing!”

“We always made fun of the people doing the tourist-y thing in London,” said Rose.

“Yep!” Amy enthusiastically agreed. “Speaking of making fun of you...” She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a sparkly tiara with a short veil attached to it. With a smug grin, she held it out to Rose, who rolled her eyes.

“Oh, good God. Really?”

“Ooh, shiny!” said Romana, plucking it from Amy’s hands and settling it on Rose’s head. She fluffed the tulle around her sister-in-law’s face, ignoring her narrowed eyes. “Why, you are absolutely, I’m not sure, but I suppose ‘breathtaking’ would work.”

Rose just pinched the bridge of her nose and took a calming breath. Being apart from the Doctor was never easy for her, but she really did want to try her best to enjoy their girls’ night out. Resolutely, she pushed the anxiety she felt toward the back of her mind.

“Where exactly are we going?” asked River.

Amy pulled a piece of paper from her tote bag, pointing off in the distance as she read from it. “Let’s see... We’re going to Funny Girls, a pole dancing class, not that it’ll do ME much good,” she grumbled, “Then we’ve got a VIP table at the Adonis Cabaret...”

“Really?” Rose had a feeling she would be saying that a lot. “Why not the Hypnotist show? That would at least be funny.”

“Mostly naked men are MUCH more appropriate for a bachelorette party, my dear,” said Romana.

“You’re not helping,” said Rose.

“The Pleasure Beach, and a pub crawl, of course,” Amy finished.

“They just opened a new bar,” said Clara. “Everything’s made out of ice! Makes it so you don’t feel the booze until after you leave.”

“Can we go down to the pier and pick up a tranny hooker and some crack while we’re at it?” asked Rose in sarcastic enthusiasm. She heaved a sigh of despair. “I hate every last one of you.”

* * *

Lynda locked the door to the downstairs loo, plunked her purse on the counter, and sat down on the lid of the toilet, fuming. She was nearly shaking with fury. The fiery Tyler instincts she normally kept so firmly pushed down were boiling to the surface in the wake of her anger at her brother. Her fingers fairly itched to slap someone, preferably Tony.

A soft tap at the door drew her attention and she glared as Elton’s voice carried through the barrier. “Ms. Tyl-- I mean, Lynda... Are you all right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I’m FINE, Toady.”

“You just... ran in there so suddenly, I got worried. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A pillow. Sleeping in the bathtub is totally NOT going to twist up my spine, or anything, and of course my chiropractor is a million miles away...”

“Um...” There was a pause. She wondered if Elton got sarcasm. “Are you going to be in there long?”

“All bloody night, Detective!” she shouted, sounding more and more like her siblings. “You want details?!”

“I just thought you might be hungry, it’s getting a bit late...”

At the thought of food, Lynda’s stomach took the opportunity to growl at her. She frowned at her abdomen. “Shut up, you have no say in this!” she whispered at her belly.

“I was going to offer to cook dinner,” Elton went on. “If you’re interested.”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, then got to her feet and unlocked the door. The simmering rage let off a bit of its steam as she looked at Elton’s hopeful face. “I guess I could eat,” she conceded.

“Great!” he said, smiling. “I’ll get to work.”

Lynda sighed as Elton headed for the kitchen. She suspected that kicking the wall would hurt... and likely scuff her pedicure. She tamped down the desire for violence and left the loo. Before she could reach the kitchen, however, the doorbell rang. Since Rose and the Doctor were each away, Lynda took it upon herself to answer it.

A young man with spiky blond hair that Lynda didn’t recognize stood on the stoop. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Jake,” he answered, before gesturing behind himself at what looked like a rolling tool chest. “I was hired by Clara Oswald to do the hair and makeup for the bride and bridesmaids of the Tyler-Smith wedding. Do I have the right place?”

“Yeah, almost everyone’s out tonight, though. Stag-Hen night.” She shrugged, stepping back. “Well, come on in, I guess.”

Jake entered the house, hauling the tools of his trade in after him. He removed his personal bag from his shoulder and began unbuttoning his stylish toggle coat. “Why didn’t you go to the Hen night?” he asked.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “My big brother seems to think he can run my life. He canceled my hotel reservations, forbade me from going out, and is making me spend the evening with a loser.”

“Can I take a peek?” asked Jake, with a mischievous grin.

Lynda gestured toward the back of the house. “Be my guest. Kitchen’s that way. He’s making dinner.”

The two of them tip-toed down the hall and poked their heads around the doorway to the kitchen to quietly observe Elton. He was turned mostly away, chopping up some meat on a cutting board and there was oil quietly sizzling on the stove. Jake shook his head, sadly.

“Shakespeare didn’t write such tragedies,” he whispered. “That man needs my help.”

“Do you really consider him a ‘man?’” Lynda whispered back, her forehead creasing in disbelief. “He’s maybe like... a little baby man.”

“Honey, that’s not fair,” said Jake. “Though he is a bit pathetic at the moment.” He took her arm and pulled Lynda back into the hallway. “Is that what you’re wearing for dinner?”

Lynda looked down at the oversized shirt and leggings she wore and tugged at her pinstriped hat. She suddenly felt a bit self-conscious next to Jake, who was the epitome of metrosexual fashion in designer denims, v-neck shirt, and burgundy sport coat with a navy scarf over it. She crossed her arms, pouting. “My luggage is still at the hotel. I was on my way here when Tony canceled the reservation.”

“Well, did you bring _anything?”_

She shrugged. “An overnight bag with my dress for the wedding, jimjams, and standard club-wear.”

Jake nodded. “Put on the club-wear. It’ll be better than the tired Alicia Keys thing you’re sporting now. So two years ago.”

“I look cute in this hat!” she protested.

“You keep telling yourself that.” He nudged her toward the stairs. “Change! Please! You look like Blossom had a love child with Rihanna.”

With a sigh, Lynda removed the hat and headed upstairs. Jake swept into the kitchen singing, “Makeover time!”

Elton jumped, turning startled eyes to the newcomer. “Wha?... Who are you?”

“I am your salvation in expensive Italian shoes,” said Jake with a wide smile. “And I’m about to turn this hot mess into a Prince Charming!”

“I... what?” Elton sputtered, clearly at a loss.

Jake placed a finger over the bewildered man’s lips. “Shush, don’t speak... Let us savour this moment just as it is. I’m Jake, by the way. Let me get a good look at this face.”

“Well, I’m a little busy withmmm!” Elton found it difficult to speak with Jake squishing his cheeks together and moving his head back and forth.

“Ugh, do you even own any moisturizer?” Jake asked, but clearly not expecting an answer. “I’m looking at the Sahara here! For God’s sake, close your pores!” He tilted Elton’s head down and sifted through the light blond mess. “No product. Natural color, I’m guessing, from your invisible eyebrows. This cut is painful! Tell the court where the bad stylist touched you.”

“Um, well...” said Elton through pinched fish lips.

Jake reeled back, horror on his face. “Please don’t tell me you did this to yourself!” He scrubbed a hand across his face, heaving a sigh of despair for all humanity. “Must you _hurt_ me in these ways? Oh, honey, this is gonna take _all_ my fairy dust.”

* * *

A girl with brunette hair in twin plaits and dressed in a scrap of blue gingham fabric with six inch sparkly red heels paused in the midst of her pole dance routine to stare at one of the men ringing the table she stood on. “Oh... Oh, my God... I’m sorry, but... aren’t you--?”

Matt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yep. MGE. That’s me.”

“Oh. My. GOD!” The girl squealed and executed a twirly move around the pole as she waved a hand at a fellow stripper. “Bunny! Bunny!! LOOK! Look who’s at my table! It’s Matthew Grayson Ellef!”

“Oh, my God, Ruby, you bitch!” exclaimed the blonde in the tiny French maid’s uniform. She winked at Matt, batting her long false eyelashes. “Don’t go anywhere, handsome! That pole is mine next!”

Ruby swung herself up on the pole in a surprisingly acrobatic move, looking at Matt upside down. “MGE in a strip club? OMG! What about Clatt?” Her face crumpled with emotion. “You guys didn’t break up or anything, did you?”

Matt briefly closed his eyes at his and Clara’s stupid tabloid nickname. “Well, I am wearing a shirt that says ‘groomsman’ on it,” he said, pointing at his chest.

She maneuvered herself back onto her feet and sinuously slid to the tabletop, giving him a wide smile. “I just can’t believe it’s really you... Will you sign my tits?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably in the booth, the vinyl squeaking. “Uh... I don’t have a pen.”

Rory came back to the table and sat down between Matt and Tony, setting a bright yellow drink with a tiny umbrella in front of his brother. “Here’s your banana daiquiri. No wonder people think you’re gay,” he said, drunkenly unkind.

Matt watched Rory take a large swig of his liquor, slumping in his seat and completely ignoring the dancers. “How many of those... whatever that is... have you had?”

“Dunno,” said Rory, taking another gulp. “You know, you think you know a person... What they need, what they want, what you think you can give them... And then, whoosh! ‘Fuck off, Rory!’”

“Well, perhaps today wasn’t the best day to pick for a proposal,” said Matt.

“How do you let someone know that you’re sorry for something when you’re not really sorry?” asked Rory.

“What?”

“I’m not sorry I proposed,” said Rory, a little forcefully. “Damn it, I love her!” He pounded the table with a fist. “I love her! You know!” His head weaved a little as he looked down at his pockets. “Where’s my money?” He sniffled and blew his nose loudly on a napkin.

Ruby looked down at the two of them sympathetically. Matt sighed and patted Rory’s back. Maybe going to a strip club wasn’t the best thing for either of them tonight...

Mickey returned to the table then, sitting down on Matt’s other side with a grin. “Whew! Sorry, mates, line at the john. Too many people using the private stalls, you know what I mean?” He elbowed Matt with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Eh, eh, eh?” He looked up at the stripper. “What’d I miss?”

“Well--” Matt began.

“Yeah, baby, shake that arse!” Mickey interrupted, not listening at all.

“Shake that arse!” Rory drunkenly echoed.

Matt closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

Pete rejoined the Doctor at his table, setting a glass of ale in front of him, but the Doctor just shook his head despondently and waved the offering away. Pete frowned sympathetically, knowing the younger man was having a tough time of it.

“You look a bit worn around the edges for someone who’s supposed to be enjoying his stag night,” said Pete. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“None.”

“More dreams?”

“No. I’ve been keeping myself awake.”

“What?”

The Doctor went on as though he hadn’t heard Pete. “Except the dreams are coming when I’m awake now...”

“You can’t just not sleep,” said Pete, “it’s not natural.”

“These nightmares are natural, either,” said the Doctor.

“Ready to start talking about it?”

The Doctor sat back in his chair, heaving a breath. “Look, this isn’t my ego talking, all right? These dreams... they’re so real... I feel like if I start talking about them, they might... really happen.”

Pete folded his hands on the tabletop. “Sometimes the only way to beat a demon is to stare it in the face.”

The Doctor looked up at Pete, his dark eyes haunted. “What if I am the demon?”

Pete shrugged lightly. “Find a mirror.”

The Doctor sighed and picked up the glass of ale, taking a long pull of the bitter brew. Mickey stumbled over, draping an arm over his friend’s shoulders as he sat down.

“Dude! That brunette over there? _Totally_ into me.”

“She’s a stripper, Mick,” said the Doctor. “Of course she’s into you.”

“I know, it’s great, isn’t it? God, I love money!” He laughed, then poked the Doctor in the side. “Come on, you have an appointment to keep!”

“I do?”

Mickey nodded. “I paid one of the dancers to give you a _private_ dance in the VIP room. You know, up close and personal.”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Mickey’s face showed his utter disappointment in his friend. “You can’t turn this down, mate!”

“I just did.”

“I’ve SEEN this girl!”

“NO!”

“She can eat an entire banana without biting it!”

“So can a gorilla,” said the Doctor, derisively.

Mickey was undeterred. “She has decidedly less body hair.” He stood up and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders, hustling him out of his chair and to his feet. “Comeoncomeoncomeon! She’s waiting upstairs and she gets more and more expensive by the minute!”

“All right, all right!” said the Doctor, attempting to get Mickey to stop pushing him as they headed for the stairs outlined in pink fairy lights.

* * *

Clara crouched before Amy on the pavement in front of the bar called ‘Ice,’ tucking her jacket around the redhead’s legs. “I wish we’d brought a blanket or something for you. You get cold faster than us in there.” She chafed her friend’s legs between her hands, to get the circulation going. “Warming up yet?”

“I feel... fine!” said Amy, clearly three sheets to the wind already. “Yep! Feeling no pain! That’s me! No. Pain.” Her eyes lit up. “This is what I should have done before therapy this morning! Look! Look!” She struggled to get to her feet, Clara’s jacket falling to the ground. “I bet you I can walk clear across Blackpool. No pain!!”

Clara stood up, placing her hands on Amy’s shoulders, worried that her friend was seriously going to hurt herself if she wasn’t careful. “Amy, this is NOT a good idea!”

Amy ineffectually pushed at Clara. “Shut up, I’m bloody sick of hearing about all the god-damned limits! How I can’t do this on my own!” She pointed a finger in the air. “Now! I have gotten up, and I am WALKING back in that bar!” Shoving Clara out of the way, Amy took two steps before her legs gave out on her.

Clara rushed to her friend’s side. “Amy! Are you all right?” But Amy only laughed. “What are you thinking?” Clara asked as she helped her get back into the wheelchair.

“I’m doing my damnedest not to think of a darn thing,” said Amy, resolutely. “I need another drink!”

“I think you’ve had enough,” said Clara.

“Bollocks!” cried Amy. “There is no ‘enough’ at a hen night!”

Rose exited the bar, her head conspicuously missing the tiara. “How’s she doing?” she asked, watching Clara resettle the jacket over Amy’s legs.

“What happened to the... thing?” asked Amy, pointing vaguely at Rose’s head.

Rose touched her hair briefly. “Oh. Yeah. You know, not a single fuck was given.” She gestured at Amy’s slightly disheveled appearance. “What happened here?”

“Amy fell down,” said Clara.

“Are you all right?” Rose asked.

“YES!” Amy shouted, pounding both fists on the armrests of the chair. “I AM FINE. Stop bloody asking me that!”

“You clearly need a nap, Miss Crankypants,” said Rose, frowning.

“Need, need, need!” said Amy, waving her head back and forth. “I NEED to go back in that bar and drink until I go into a coma! Again!” She hooted with laughter.

Rose and Clara exchanged a look. “Okay, no. Clara, you stay here. I’m gonna call a taxi.” Rose pulled her mobile out of her pocket and held it up, wandering around the corner as she searched for a signal.

Amy moaned softly, clutching at her stomach. “Clara?” she asked, her voice pained. “I don’t feel so good...”

“No surprise there,” said Clara.

She gestured at the bar. “Could you get me some water, please?”

“Uhh, sure...” Clara looked off in the direction Rose had gone, then back to Amy. “I’ll be right back. Stay there.”

“Uh huh,” said Amy, weakly. “Right here.”

She waited until the door to Ice had closed behind Clara before tossing the jacket on the ground and pivoting the wheelchair around. “Hell no!” she said, beginning to propel herself down the street. “Later, losers!”

* * *

Mickey tapped on the bright purple door to the VIP room, still holding onto the Doctor’s wrist in case he decided to bail. “Raye?” he inquired.

“Come on in!” said a woman’s voice from inside.

Mickey opened the door, almost giddy. “Have fun, dude!” he said, punching the Doctor in the arm.

“Ow! Dickhead!” The Doctor rubbed his arm as Mickey giggled his way back downstairs. Glaring after him, the Doctor let the door fall shut and turned to the stripper standing in the center of the room. She was wearing a glittering gold g-string bikini with little rainbows arching over her breasts and very tall clear plastic heels.

“Hi there, handsome,” she purred. “I’m Raye Sunshine.”

“Hey,” he said, still irritated.

She gestured at the plush faux-velvet seating that ringed the room in a semi-circle. “Have a seat.”

He slumped onto a section of the couch, fidgeting to get comfortable, as Raye punched a few buttons into the sound system to start the music. She smiled as she turned to face him, slinking her way over.

“You look a little tense,” she said. “Don’t tell me this is your first private dance.”

“I went to uni,” he said, a bit tersely. “There were plenty of drunk sorority girls.”

“I belonged to a sorority once,” she said. “Maybe you just need some help remembering how to get things started.” She knelt over his legs, her knees on the cushions on either side of him, gyrating and swinging her long blonde hair. “Just relax, sweetheart. Enjoy yourself. Your shirt says ‘groom.’”

“It’s my stag night,” he said, distractedly, trying to figure out what to do with his hands, finally settling them near her knees without touching her.

“Your fiancee must be hot,” she said, continuing to move over him, running her fingers over his chest teasingly.

“She is.” He pressed his lips together, irritation spiking again. “Why does everyone say that when they hear I’m getting married?”

“It’s a normal assumption,” she said, lightly, winking at him, “for a smoking guy like you.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m smoking, am I?”

“Any more and I’d have to call the fire marshal,” she said with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Come on, you don’t need to lay it on that thick. You were in a sorority, yeah? So, you went to uni. There’s a brain in there somewhere.”

“Oi, rude!” she said, breaking character and frowning at him. The Doctor sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, closing his eyes. A sly smile quirked the edges of the stripper’s mouth. “You like that?” she asked, beginning to move over him again. “A girl being rough with you? I can do that. Call you names.”

“Say it... again,” he said in a low voice, eyes still closed.

“You rude wanker,” she said, getting into it. A growl rumbled up from the back of his throat as she ground herself down on him, calling him progressively dirtier names.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he could still picture her blonde hair, feel it as she swept it past his face, a few strands catching in the shadow on his jaw. Her hands trailed up his legs and continued up his chest, purposely avoiding touching him anywhere intimate. Another growl grated out of him, louder this time.

“Arsehole!”

Faster than the eye could follow, he grabbed her by the hair and his teeth violently latched onto her shoulder. She fell backward off the couch, screaming, and he followed her down, limbs flailing.

“What the HELL?” she shrieked. “Get the fuck off me!” Shoving with both hands, she pushed him off of her and awkwardly climbed to her feet, an impressive move in her tall shoes. “What the hell did you just do? You aren’t supposed to fucking touch me!” She grasped her shoulder, trying to tilt her head enough to see if there was any damage. “God, I think I’m bleeding!”

He’d landed on his side, slowly climbing up onto his hands and knees. His eyes were unfocused as he shook his head. “Rose?”

“Raye!” the girl snapped. “You are one sick fuck!” Her heels clopped on the floor as she ran to the door and left.

No sooner had her footsteps faded down the stairs, than a new set of heels clicked toward him, echoing eerily, unnaturally. The Doctor looked up and Lania materialized before him, laughing.

“Look how my puppy has grown!” she said with a wicked smile.

He tried to get to his feet, but he fell back down on his bottom as the room swam before his eyes. Lania seemed to be the only thing he could focus on. He squeezed his eyes shut as he backed away from her, eventually coming to a stop against the couch. “Get out of my head!” he ordered in a rough voice, vaguely waving a hand at her as though to fend her off.

“Oh, Theta,” she purred, “you don’t really want me gone. Do you?”

“Yes! I do! Get away from me!”

“Poor thing,” she cooed, moving closer to him. “See what you’ve been reduced to? Look what you’ve done to that stupid girl. If that was just some stripper who means nothing, imagine what would happen to the real Rose.”

“No!” he shouted. “Never! I would never--”

“Never what?” she repeated. “Hurt her? Rip into her? Tear her apart?”

He clapped his hands over his ears, but of course, it did nothing to block her out. “Stop! Please!”

“Squeeze her throat until it collapses under your hands?” she went on, crouching in front of him and bringing her face close to his.

“Stop!” he pleaded. “Leave me alone, Lania!”

“It’s not like you’ve been dreaming about doing it or anything... Oh! Wait! Yes, you have. Might be why you haven’t told anyone about it. What are you afraid of?”

“Leave me alone!” he repeated, but he could no longer summon the commanding tone he’d used before. Tears pricked his eyes as she painted him a vivid picture of his future.

“They’ll take her from you. You know it. Think they’ll lock you away?” She leaned over him, her mouth right next to his ear. “No. Of course not. You remember what they did to the last Alpha who went insane. Don’t you, Theta? You know what they do to ‘help the sick.’”

“You don’t know anything about that,” he whispered, his chin to his chest as he brought his knees up, trying to curl into himself, her words burrowing deep into his heart.

“I know all too well about it,” she said, her voice no longer soft and purring, but hard and cold. “These violent urges have made you unstable. Especially toward your mate. You know what they do to the crazy ones. You might want to consider doing unto yourself before they do unto you.”

“Get out! Get out!!” he sobbed, desperately.

A knock at the door made him snap open his eyes.

“I am out!” came Mickey’s voice from the hallway. “You need to let me in!”

Breathing hard, the Doctor whipped his head about, looking around the small room. He was alone. He scrubbed his face with his hands, wiping away the tears that had fallen, then used the couch as leverage to stand up. When he was sure of his equilibrium, he let go and went to the door, cautiously opening it.

“Mickey?” he asked, tentatively, still unsure what was real and what wasn’t.

“What the fuck did you DO to that stripper?” his friend asked, oblivious to his distress. “Do you have any idea the ungodly amount of money I had to pay the manager, just so he wouldn’t call the police?” Grinning, he held up his hand for a high five. “Now, THAT’S what I call a stag night, mate! Up top!”

The Doctor released a heavy breath and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I need to get out of here.”

Mickey frowned at his friend for not returning his high five, but said, “Well, yeah, we need to get out of here. We have an appointment at the next strip club. Come on, it doesn’t close til three!”

The Doctor shook his head, pushing past Mickey to go back downstairs. “No... I... I need to make a phone call.”

* * *

The noise at Blackpool’s famous Pleasure Beach was stifling. People everywhere, vendors hawking food and souvenirs, obnoxious music, and of course, the roller coasters rumbling past with screaming riders. Rose, Clara, River, and Romana walked through it all, as fast as the foot traffic allowed, looking everywhere for a sign of Amy.

“You were supposed to be watching her, Clara!” said Rose, irritably.

“How was I supposed to know she’d run off?” Clara said, waving her arms in a gesture of helplessness.

Rose’s pocket began buzzing and she reached for her mobile with a frown. “Who the hell is calling me now?”

“She was REALLY drunk,” Clara moaned. “What if she’s lost? Or someone’s taken advantage of her?”

“Ask around, see if anyone saw her.” Rose unlocked her mobile to see it was the Doctor calling. She had two bars of signal and hoped it would last as she pressed ‘receive.’ “Hello?”

“Hello, beautiful.”

There was static over the line, making it difficult to hear him on top of the surrounding noise. Rose stuck a finger in her opposite ear. “Doctor? Um... hi!”

“The Doctor?” Clara whispered in horror. “Oh, my God, don’t tell him what happened! Rory will freak!”

“Shut up!” Rose hissed at Clara as the Doctor spoke louder on the phone, indicating the signal wasn’t great on his end either.

“Rose? Can you hear me?” His voice was shaking. “Please tell me you can hear me.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, moving away from the other women. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I... just wanted to hear the sound of your voice.” He took a deep breath. “I just...”

He paused for so long, Rose thought the connection might have dropped. “Doctor?”

“I love you.”

Her heart thudded as it always did whenever he said the words. “I love you, too. Something _is_ wrong, isn’t it?”

“I need you.”

“They took me to Blackpool. We’re coming back tomorrow.”

“Not soon enough.”

Rose’s stomach clenched. He sounded so pained. Not being able to put her arms around him made the separation anxiety rush back to the forefront.

“Rose... You know I’d never want to do anything that would hurt you, right? I mean...”

She frowned. “Doctor, I’m not thinking of running out on you, if that’s what has you worried.”

“Why not?”

But River had grabbed Rose’s shoulder, talking over the Doctor’s last sentence. “Rose, I talked to that bloke over there at the fairy floss stand, he said he saw a girl in a wheelchair about an hour ago.”

“What?” asked Rose, her focus clearly split between finding Amy and the phone call. “Doctor? What did you say?”

“Why do you put up with me?” the Doctor asked, louder.

“Put up with--” River was gesturing and Rose unplugged her ear with a frustrated sigh. “What? Who said he saw her an hour ago? Going where?” She waved River away and held up a finger to ask for a moment to finish the call. “Sorry, Doctor... Things are... happening over here.”

“Sounds like it.” He sighed. “Tell me you know I love you.”

“Of course I know it,” she said, trying to infuse as much love as she could into her words. Perhaps the Doctor was feeling the separation harder that she was this time... Or maybe the idea of marrying her the day after next was scaring him. “Look, if you’re having second thoughts, don’t tell my brother. You’ll never come home.”

“Oh, no,” said River. Rose turned around to see the three women standing behind her, listening to everything she was saying. She glared and moved away from them, wanting to have a modicum of privacy for their conversation.

“I’m not,” said the Doctor, but sudden static drowned him out.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Rose checked her mobile. She was down to one bar. “Bloody Blackpool, bloody black hole of mobile signal...”

“Don’t tell her brother what?” asked Romana.

“The Doctor’s having some second thoughts,” said River.

“Oh, dear,” said Romana.

“I wish I was with you,” Rose said to the Doctor, voicing what she’d been feeling all night. She sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. Saying it had made the distance too real, too difficult, and tears were suddenly threatening to fall.

“Rose?” asked Clara, moving closer to her friend.

“I need you, beautiful,” the Doctor said. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Just a second, Clara!” Rose snapped. “Doctor? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Rose!” said Clara, more insistently.

Rose turned back around, dropping the mobile from her ear as she shouted, “Shut the hell up!” She replaced the mobile, jamming her finger back into her other ear. “Doctor? Are you still there?”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Everything will be all right. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” she said. He sounded more calm. A tiny bit of relief soothed her. “I should go. This party has turned into some mad... scavenger hunt from hell.”

“Have fun. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” She pressed the end button, then turned furiously on the women. “God, really? Did you _have_ to talk during my call? That was important!”

“You could hear us over all this noise?” asked River.

“I think the whole beach could hear you,” said Rose, sourly.

“This is important, too!” said Clara. “We still need to find Amy!”

Romana aimed a thumb over her shoulder. “The security guard over there said that he saw someone matching her description, being pushed by some uni students, down toward the other end of the strip.”

“What is it with Amy and uni students?” asked Rose. “They flock to her like sheep!”

“At least it gives us a direction to head in,” said Clara.

Romana sidled up to Rose and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Rose, sweetheart... Is everything all right with the Doctor?”

Rose shook her head slightly. “He sounded... strange. Something’s wrong, I know it, and he’s so far away!” She covered her mouth as a sob tried to escape. “I’m worried. I just... I know it’s hard to be apart, but I feel... this pull. This _need_ to be with him.” She sighed, looking down at Romana, helplessly. “Does that make any sense?”

Romana offered a sad smile. “Love, it makes more sense than you know.” She pulled Rose into a hug, rubbing her back gently. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? We’ll find your friend.”

“No,” said Rose, pulling away. “I have to help you find Amy.”

Romana shook her head, resolutely. “You need rest,” she said. “Like it or not, you’re getting married the day after tomorrow. Your brother will see to that, if no one else.”

Rose groaned, closing her eyes briefly. “You already called Tony, didn’t you?”

“Priorities!” said Romana, shaking a finger at her. “Find Amy first... Calls to threatening husbands later. I’m only looking out for my sister, you understand.”

Rose stared at her. “That’s... the first time you’ve called me that.”

Romana smiled. “More true than ever, now.” She hugged Rose once more. “Now, get yourself to bed.”

Rose nodded, conceding control of the search. “I’ll be at the hotel.”

As Rose headed for the Pleasure Beach’s exit, Romana turned to River and Clara, hands on hips. “All right, ladies! It is time to use our respective talents to find our wayward little lamb. Let’s head to the end of the strip and continue our search!”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a VERY busy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to update. I got bit by multiple plot bunnies after recovering from getting sick. I am hopeful that it will not take as long to get you the next chapter. ^_^

Sarah Jane, Alistair, Lewis, Jack, and Jake all sat around the parlor table, piles of red, blue, and white poker chips divided among them. Sarah Jane shuffled a pack of cards and dealt like a professional. It was plainly obvious that she had the most chips.

“All right, gentlemen,” she said. “The next game is five card stud, one-eyed jacks are wild.”

“If you keep winning like this, I’m going back to my room,” said Lewis, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked at his small pile of chips. “I have to think of my tuition!”

“Might as well leave now,” said Alistair. “She’s already not allowed back to Monte Carlo.”

“Now, now, Alistair,” said Sarah Jane in a coaxing tone. “If he leaves, he’ll never have a chance to win back his money.”

They each took their cards and exchanged the junk, until Sarah Jane came to Jake. “Any cards for you, dear?”

Jake frowned at his hand of cards. “Well, do I get rid of the clovers or the pointy-looking thingies?”

Sarah Jane giggled. “I’m so glad you decided to join our little game.”

Jake grinned at her, not realizing she was anticipating fleecing him for all he was worth. “Everything is made better by my presence, lovely lady.” Hesitantly, he hovered over his cards, then set two face down on the table. “I guess I’ll take two.”

Sarah Jane dealt him his cards and then exchanged one for herself.

“It’s too bad you didn’t arrive earlier, Jake,” said Jack, conversationally. “You could have joined the other men at the stag night.”

Jake shrugged as if to say he wasn’t all that interested. “Why didn’t you go?”

“My wife,” said Jack. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust me... Well, not entirely. But she definitely doesn’t trust strippers and she could probably kill any one of them with her pinkie finger.”

“What about you?” Jake asked Lewis.

The nerdy kid pushed his glasses up his nose. “I thought I had a lot to type up tonight, but there’s no paranormal activity right now, so there’s nothing for me to document.”

Jake looked at Alistair. “And why didn’t you go, Daddy of the Groom?”

The older man shook his head, his eyes on his cards. “Not really my thing. Theta wouldn’t have wanted me there anyway.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sarah Jane.

“He didn’t say anything to the contrary,” Alistair pointed out.

“If you two would just stop arguing and talk to each other!” she said, with the tone of a long-repeated argument.

“I’ve talked,” said Alistair. “It’s up to him to grow up.”

“I sense some family tension,” said Jake, tactfully.

“It’s not that... not really,” said Sarah Jane, reluctantly. “They used to be close when Theta was little.”

“What happened, if that’s not a rude question?” asked Jake.

Sarah Jane gave a small shrug. “Well, as boys get older, they become more rebellious, and Alistair does have a bit of a temper. They had a fight that got out of hand one night.”

“I don’t even remember what it was about,” Alistair admitted. “But I... said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Theta said he wished Alistair wasn’t his father and--”

“I told him he wasn’t my son.”

Sarah Jane sighed. “It wasn’t the way we wanted him to find out.”

“So... who IS the Doctor’s father?” asked Jack.

Sarah Jane blushed. “Well, it was a long time ago... He was a professor, I had just graduated...”

“A one night stand?” said Jake. “Get you! Go, Mummy Smith!”

“No, no, we were together for a bit, he died when Theta was still a baby...” She shook her head, her cheeks still red. “It’s not important now. Anyway, after the fight, they never acted the same towards one another again.”

“Even after I apologized, he was still distant,” said Alistair.

“That’s so sad,” said Lewis, compassionately.

“Mmm.” Sarah Jane looked down at her cards, then put them on the table. “Not as sad as this hand, though. I fold. Excuse me.” She got up from her chair and headed for the downstairs loo for a moment alone.

* * *

Meanwhile, the dining room’s table had been set with two places, side by side, with candles supplying romantic ambient lighting. Jake had shoved Elton into one of his own outfits, luckily the two men were about the same size, gray slacks, a light blue Oxford to compliment his eyes, and a matching gray waistcoat. He’d also toned Elton’s hair with some temporary brush-on color, making it a light brown and his eyebrows actually visible. Jake had promised to give him permanent color the next day if the “date” went well.

Lynda had changed into her tight black ‘club’ dress with sparkles decorating the bodice and had been pleasantly surprised... well, stunned was probably a better word, when she saw Elton’s changed appearance. He certainly didn’t look like a “Toady” now. He looked... pretty all right.

However, with each of them unsure as to what to say to each other, dinner was fairly quiet... That is, until Lynda was on her third glass of wine. The alcohol made her chatty, but also a lot more honest, Elton was finding out.

“I bet the girls went to Ice,” she complained. “I _love_ Ice! You don’t even know that you’re drunk until you leave. See, right now, I know that I’m drunk. You know how I know? Because I am. Fucking Tony.” She downed what was left in her glass.

“You know, you sound a lot more like your sister when you’ve been drinking,” Elton commented.

She snorted, filling up her glass again, a tad unsteadily. “That is TOOOTALLY not the way to get into my pants, Elton. See? I remembered. Your name is Elton.”

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” he suggested, taking the wine bottle back from her, but he shouldn’t have bothered. It was empty.

“Okay,” said Lynda. “I don’t know anything about you. Tell me something.”

His cheeks turned a bit pink. “There’s not a whole lot to tell.”

“Oh, come on,” she pressed. “There’s gotta be more to you besides the fact that your name is Elton.”

He thought for a moment. “Well... I moved to London from Trumpington a few years ago when I transferred to Woods U from Cambridge.”

“Wait,” she said, holding up an index finger. “Cammmmmbridge? Why would you transfer to a crappy uni like Woods?”

He shifted in his seat, avoiding her gaze. “It’s... kind of embarrassing, actually. I got involved with a girl and... it didn’t work out... so... I left.”

“That sucks.”

He could only nod. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. My grades were suffering, so I transferred to where I could forget about the situation. I didn’t want to leave Cambridge, but I’m glad I did.” He smiled at her. “Because I got to meet you.”

Lynda grinned drunkenly at him and playfully shoved at his arm. “Ohhh, you’re so sweeeeet! Why are you so sweet to me? I’m a stupid spoiled whore.”

He blinked. “Who says that?”

“Uh, duuuh, everybody.” She rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t know these things about myself? I know that I sound like my brother and sister. I cover it up because that’s what people want. Okay, so, I can SAY something that Rose would say, but if I do it with a smile on my face, people just think I’m dumb instead of a huge bitch.”

He squinted his eyes, trying to follow, but shook his head. “That... doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

She pointed at her face. “Uh, drunk, remember?” She set her wine glass down and stared at him. “This is the way the world works, Elton. Do you think I actually want to hang out with Christina and Reinette all the time? They’re boring as hell! They’re shallower than a kiddie pool! And hanging out with them makes me shallow and boring, too! But I do it because they’re the ‘right’ people to hang out with. Well, except not anymore.”

“Why not?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Well, because Reinette got fired. Do you know, that because of Reinette, I never had to get a degree for the job I was doing? Now that she’s gone, the bosses are thinking about making me go back to uni! Can you believe that? For a job I was already doing! And I know it’s just an excuse to get rid of me. Because I know I have no skills... I’m pretty! That’s the most defining thing about me!”

“That’s not true!” he said.

“What?”

“You’re intelligent. You’re insightful and creative.” Leaning forward, he cupped her face and impulsively kissed her. Lynda made a surprised sound, but didn’t move away. When he pulled back, he stroked the apple of her cheek with his thumb, his blue eyes soft. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. I never did. And there’s a lot more to you than just your looks.”

“Wow...” said Lynda, seeing him in a whole new light. Then her eyesight blurred a bit and her stomach turned, making her groan and squeeze her eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” he asked, nervously.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said in a pained voice.

He helped her up from her chair and assisted in walking her to the loo, trying to hurry without jostling her too much. “I really hope it’s because you had too much to drink,” he said.

“Mm. Yeah.”

* * *

Jackie sighed. She had to do this. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want this to open a door she thought she’d closed long ago and have everything she once was come flooding back. But she had to. For Rose. For the Doctor.

She took a piece of white chalk and drew a circle on the hardwood floor of hers and Pete’s bedroom. She sat inside it and lit a white candle for spiritual enlightenment, then opened a very old leather bound book with yellowed pages. She found the incantation she needed and closed her eyes, breathing in and then slowly breathing out.

_“Aperi spiritum mundi. Quaero notitia de terra viventium.”_

A cold wind blasted through her, and when Jackie opened her eyes again, she saw the murky, shifting vista of the spirit world. Smoke and shadows played with each other in alternating colors of blue and gray, hiding their true shapes from her.

“Is there someone here?” she asked, her voice coming out slightly wavery, distorted.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ came a whisper from the darkness, echoing around her. It was almost impossible to tell whether the voice was male or female.

“Who are you?” she asked.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“That’s not the answer I was looking for.” The spirit obviously didn’t want to reveal its identity, and that made its information dodgy, at best. Still, Jackie needed to try.

_“I need to make amends.”_

“I need information.” She wasn’t going to agree to anything, making contracts with the dead was a bad business. They had ways of holding a person bound to the agreement, even if they couldn’t complete their end.

_“I want to help you.”_

That sounded a bit better. “What can you tell me?”

_“She’s come for him.”_

“Who?”

_“The one who came before. She believes he’s still hers. She wants them to be together.”_

Too vague. She tried being more direct. “How do I get it to stop?”

_“Let me help. I’m so sorry. Please, let me help.”_

She wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted, so agreeing to let him help was dangerous. “Who are you?”

_“You won’t trust me. I need you to trust me to stop her.”_

“How do we stop her?”

_“She can only be pulled back from this side.”_

Finally, a definitive answer. “Can you do that?”

_“Not strong enough.”_

She tried one more time. “Who are you?”

_“You won’t trust me.”_

The world around her blurred. This was taking too long, and she wasn’t as strong as she used to be. Her time in the shadowy realm was up. Suddenly, Jackie felt herself falling sideways and a fiery heat scorched through her veins as she was pulled out of the spirit world and back to the realm of the living. She sucked in a deep breath as the heat normalized in her body, and she sagged down onto the floor, all her energy gone.

Before she could leave the circle however, she needed to close the door. Breathlessly, she recited, _“Spiritu mundo clausit.”_ The candle blew itself out.

She sighed, closing her eyes and taking several more breaths. At least she had a better idea of what was going on and what she needed to do. Now, she just had to wait for Dracula to come back to the house.

* * *

Romana, River, and Clara stood side by side on the casino floor of the Holden Resort. About fifty feet in front of them was a circular rotating section that housed the penny slot machines, going about walking speed around in a continuous circle. And in the middle of the carousel, sat Amy in her wheelchair, with her arms up as though she was on the best roller coaster ever, shouting, “WHEEEEEE!”

“What on Earth is she doing?” asked Romana.

“I think she’s riding the penny slots carousel,” said Clara, her arms crossed over her chest.

“WHEEEEEE!”

“Does every casino have slot machines that spin in a circle?” asked Romana.

“No, but there is one in Vegas,” said River. “Jack took me there, once.” They continued to watch Amy spin and squeal for a few more seconds. “If she’s having that much fun, should we really stop her?”

Clara shook her head. “I think she’s just _really_ drunk.” She started over to her friend, the other women close behind her. “Amy!” She stopped just in front of the carousel. “Amy, come off of there, it’s time to go back to the hotel.”

“I can’t!” Amy declared. “I’m stuck! It just keeps going round and round and round and round...” She swiveled her head, but stopped when her pallor turned a bit green.

“No one could ever get stuck on this thing,” said River, slowly, as though she was trying to calm a child. “It’s going one kilometre an hour, if that.”

Amy pointed at herself. “Do you see this face, River? This is the face of a very. Drunk. Amy. And Very Drunk Amy can’t wheel her sorry arse off of anything, spinning or otherwise.”

Clara sighed. “Well, we’re here now, we can help you off of--”

“You know what I found out tonight?” said Amy, going on like no one had spoken. “This place suuuu-UUUUU-uuuucks! Not just this casino. Though this _is_ a shithole. No, the WHOLE PLACE. IS A SHITHOLE. Blackpool is a fucking DIVE. But it’s better than London!” She pointed at Clara. “Answer me this! Why do I live there?”

“Um... You work there?” Clara guessed. “Your boyfriend lives there?”

“That’s it!” Amy said. “My boyfriend. Who REEEEALLY loves me. He lives there. Only, does he really love me? Or does he reeeeeally feel sorry for me?”

Clara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Amy, Rory really loves you! I think you should know that by--”

“It was supposed to be thirteen!” she wailed, her voice wobbling as though on the verge of tears. “Instead it was three.” Suddenly, the watery sound in her tone vanished, leaving only anger in its wake. “So, you know what he did? He proposed!”

Romana blinked. “Oh, my.”

River just looked confused. “The bastard?”

“IKNOWRIGHT?” said Amy. “I mean, seriously!”

“Did it occur to you that he might actually want to marry you?” Clara asked.

Amy snorted. “What planet do you live on? Oh, right, the one where you shit out little gold cakes and rainbows are farted out by koalas!”

Clara threw her hands down at her sides, glaring at her friend. “All right. That’s it.”

She stomped over to Amy and resolutely pushed the wheelchair off the carousel, despite Amy’s protests. “Now, that’s enough!” said Clara, coming to stand in front of the drunk redhead. She planted her hands on her hips. “I have HAD it with your self pity and this ‘not-going-to-deal-with-it’ attitude. When I was wallowing in my own misery, you told me that you were going to kick my arse after you called me Howard Hughes. Well, this is YOUR arse-kicking, Amy Pond! I’m returning the favor.”

Clara took a deep breath.

“What the HELL is the matter with you? Are you really so bloody depressed that you can’t see how much we all care about you and want you to get well? WAKE UP. Maybe you should realize that it’s not always about YOU. We’re just trying to help and all you’re doing right now is whinging! And you wanna know something? Your words hurt us just as much as your body hurts you, so cut it the fuck out! And since you can’t kick my arse for this right now, I’ll tell you when you can. When you get out of the bloody wheelchair. And now, we are all going back to the hotel so you can sleep this off, you bitch!”

Amy blinked at Clara in utter shock. “That... wasn’t very nice.” She huffed out a breath, blinking a few more times in an attempt to sober up a little. “Okay. You’re right. We should go to sleep now.”

Satisfied, Clara got behind Amy to push her along. “You’re damn right we’re going to sleep. It’s been seven hours since we started looking for you! The whole hen night is ruined!”

“I hope Rose got something out of it,” River said.

“I hear the shampoo bottles in the hotel are pretty great,” Romana offered, optimistically.

At the same time across town, a tall man in a long, tan coat walked out of the Blackpool International Airport. The light nighttime breeze off the sea ruffled his chestnut colored hair as he looked up and down the curb and finally headed for an open taxi.

The driver, who’d been reading a paperback, straightened up and asked, “Where to?”

“The Shard Riverside hotel,” said the Doctor.

* * *

Elton patiently sat on the side of the tub next to the toilet, holding Lynda’s hair away from her face. She retched and coughed and cried and sniffled as her stomach heaved up its contents. Eventually, the vomiting slowed until she was just crying.

“Think you got it all out?” he asked, gently.

“Ugh...” she groaned. Her stomach was killing her. “I don’t know...” She lifted her head slowly. Her makeup was streaming down her face in long black rivulets. Her lips looked raw and there was snot dripping from her nose. “I must look disgusting and smell worse.”

He carefully laid her hair down on her shoulders. “That doesn’t matter.”

She furrowed her brow, turning her head to look at him. “How I look doesn’t matter? What?”

He took a flannel from the side of the bathtub and wetted it at the tap, then wrung it out. He smiled at her as he dabbed sick from her face. “You could be covered in dirt and you’d still be beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

She attempted to smile back at him, but her expression was still pained. “That’s... No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Well, shame on them.” He grabbed a dry towel and offered it to her.

“Thanks.” She wiped her face free of tears and snot, rubbing off some of the ruined makeup as well, and then tossed the towel on the floor. She sighed. “I’d really appreciate going to bed now.”

“Okay. Let me help you.”

He got to his feet and went to step behind her so he could help her up by her arms, but he managed to trip over the towel she’d thrown on the tile and suddenly was thrown backwards. A dull crack sounded as Elton hit his head on the rim of the tub and Lynda screamed, turning around on her knees in a panic, looking at his unmoving body.

“Oh, my God, Elton! Oh, Jesus, I’ve killed him!” She looked to the partially open door and reached over, flinging it wide. She thought of running to find someone, but didn’t want to leave Elton alone. “JAKE! SOMEBODY!! HELP!! COME QUICK!”

Jake and everyone else from the poker game came running upstairs. His face went a shade paler when he saw Elton on the floor. “Oh, fuck me, daddy, what did you do to him?” Squeezing into the small space beside Lynda, Jake knelt down next to Elton.

“He tripped on the towel and hit his head on the bathtub!” Lynda said, beginning to cry again. “Is he dead?”

Jake shook his head, his fingers on the unconscious man’s wrist. “No, but it can’t have been good for him.” He glanced behind him at the rest of the group. Sarah Jane was already on her mobile and gave him a thumb’s up. Jake nodded and looked to Lynda. “Go downstairs and get him some ice, we’ll put him in bed until the ambulance gets here.”

With Jack helping him, Jake managed to get Elton into the nearest bedroom, which happened to be Matt and Clara’s. Luckily, he wasn’t bleeding, because head wounds tended to bleed a lot, but Sarah Jane was still concerned there might be internal injuries and advised that someone should stay with him.

“Will he be okay?” asked Lynda as she sat down on the edge of the bed, a baggie of ice in her hand.

“This is _way_ out of my realm of expertise, sweetheart,” said Jake. “But the medics will be here as soon as they can. If you’re tired, you can go to bed and I’ll stay and keep trying to wake him up.”

Lynda shook her head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking down at Elton. “It’s what he would do for me.”

“My goodness,” said Jake. “What brought this on?”

She sighed, lightly. “I’m gross and I smell like sick, but he still thinks I’m pretty. And he thinks I’m smart. That doesn’t happen to me every day. Most guys will drop you like a hot rock when you honk on their shoes. Elton is different.” She gestured to the door. “You go ahead and take the couch instead of me. I’ll be going to the hospital.”

Jake grinned at her. “You little minx. I can’t believe you’re getting your way about not staying here.”

Lynda gave a small laugh. “Not exactly four star accommodation, but still. I _am_ staying with Elton, so I think Tony will forgive me.”

Jake chuckled.

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Like you didn’t have most of this planned.”

“The head wound is a new one.”

* * *

Once Amy had been put to bed, with River in the same room to make sure she didn’t wander off again for any reason, Romana and Clara went to their room. Clara decided she needed a long soak in the bath after what had happened, and after the door to the loo closed, Romana took her mobile into the hallway to call Tony. Time to get some answers to the _other_ problem that had happened that night.

Tony picked up after two rings. “Hello, babe.”

“Hey, lover,” she said, unable to keep from smiling at the sound of his voice. “How’s the party?”

There was the barest of hesitation before he replied, “Fine. I can’t tell you how great it is to hear from you.”

“What’s happened?” she asked immediately.

“What, I can’t be affectionate?” he asked.

“No, you can,” she said. “But when I ask you a question and you come back with sweet words, it means something has gone wrong.”

“That’s not necessarily--”

She narrowed her eyes, though he wasn’t there to see it. “You are as transparent as cellophane. Anthony Everett Tyler, you tell me what’s gone wrong right _now!”_

He sighed. “The little bastard ran off.”

“What?” said Romana in a low, growling tone.

“We lost him at the strip club about eight hours ago.” The apology was there in Tony’s voice, but Romana wanted none of it.

“That is NOT acceptable,” she said. If anyone had been listening to their conversation, it would have been plainly obvious who actually wore the pants in their relationship.

“Babe--”

“DO NOT ‘BABE’ ME,” she ordered. “You will FIND him, you will TRACK him down, and you will DRAG him to his wedding by his fantastic HAIR, if necessary! And NO violence, you hear me? You wreck that pretty face of his and the wedding photos will be ruined for eternity. Your sister will never forgive you.”

“Rose wouldn’t care--”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

There was another pause, a bit longer this time. “You think he’s pretty?”

Romana laughed lightly. “Jealousy does not suit you, lover.” Her voice gentled. “I love you. Go find that boy.”

“Hurry home. I love you, too.”

* * *

Rose was sleeping fitfully, at best, in her solo hotel room. River had come in to check on her when the girls returned and to tell her they’d found Amy, and Rose had been tossing and turning ever since. She felt... itchy. Under the skin, where it couldn’t be scratched. She wanted to be with the Doctor the way she wanted to keep breathing. She couldn’t wait to go back to Bothal in the morning.

The door opened again and closed quietly. Rose groaned, not even bothering to roll over. “I told you I’m fine, River, go back to your room,” she said, tiredly.

She squeaked in surprise as the bed dipped and two familiar arms came around her, wrapping her in an achingly beautiful scent, a pair of cool, smooth lips pressed to the side of her neck. The itch was gone on two whispered words, “Hello, beautiful.”

Rose struggled to turn her head to look into his gorgeous brown eyes. “Doctor?” She blinked, but he was still there. “I have to be dreaming.”

He shook his head. “I told you I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you.”

She turned in his arms, hugging him tightly, pressing her face into his collar. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here...” Blindly, her lips sought his, and she dragged her hands through his silky hair as he nipped at her bottom lip and sucked her tongue into his mouth, moaning greedily.

When at last they parted for air, she rested her forehead against his, reveling in the sheer ‘rightness’ of being close to him again. “This hen party sucked,” she said at last.

“Hm,” he said. “The stag night wasn’t much better.”

“You don’t even know what happened to me and the girls.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“You’re definitely the best thing to happen to me tonight,” she said. “Then again...” She hesitated, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh, this is corny...”

“Normally, I wouldn’t make you say it, but...”

She rubbed her hands up and down his back. “You could use some corniness?”

“At the moment. Yes.”

She sighed and smiled, giving him a squeeze. “You’re always the best thing.”

“You...” He exhaled and pulled her closer, hiding his face against her shoulder, muffling his voice slightly. “You always know just what to say. How do you do that?”

“Only with you,” she said, still smiling. “I could never do it before. All I ever managed was sarcasm.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You changed that. My--” She huffed. “Really, seriously, I don’t think I can say this.”

His hands clutched at her pajamas, his legs curling into hers. “Just this one time, Rose,” he said, still not lifting his head. “Please. I think I need to hear it.”

She looked briefly at the ceiling, then nodded. “Just because you asked.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “You... made it so I can... feel. I’m not numb. I never let anyone in before, but you wouldn’t let me shut you out. You took away all my snappy comebacks and all I’m left with is this... feeling.” She sighed, her fingers threading through the short hair at the back of his head. He’d been having such a difficult time lately, it was time to show him how she’d been affected. “I love you. I’m trusting you to love me back. So, please, don’t leave me. In any way.” She waited, to see if he had a response, then prompted, “You want to tell me what’s wrong, now?”

He was silent for a long time, so long that she thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep. Then he spoke, in a voice so soft, she wasn’t sure at first that she’d heard him right. “I kill you.” He took a shuddering breath. “I kill you every night.” His lifted his head, but he was still looking down, staring at nothing. “Every time I close my eyes, I see my hands go around your neck, my teeth ripping you apart, and I hear you screaming... _begging_ me to stop... I feel the life drain out of you. And I can’t stop it.” He looked up then, terror in his wide, dark eyes, his voice jagged with despair. “I’m afraid that when I wake up, it’ll really be you, lying there, lifeless. I know I should go, I shouldn’t risk being with you, but I can’t stand to be without you.” He shook his head. When he blinked, there were tears falling across his cheeks. “I’m losing my mind.”

“Then, lose it,” said Rose, calmly. “You’re afraid of hurting me?” She shifted their position and took his hands in hers, wrapping them around her throat. “Do it. Squeeze. I trust you.” She cupped his face with one hand. “Remember, Doctor? You go, I follow.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, breathing harshly. He looked down at his hands, his long fingers wrapping nearly all the way around her slim neck. It wouldn’t take much effort at all, would it?

“I love you, Doctor.”

With a sound that was like half a laugh, half gasping for air, he let her go, collapsing against her. “If you want me to kill you so badly, why’d you have to go and say something like that?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said with a tiny smile. “And I don’t really want to die.”

He really did laugh then, softly. “Hoisted upon my own petard.” He paused. “Shakespeare.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m not petarded.”

He laughed again, stronger now. “You’re just trying to make me laugh, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, so, so grateful to have her. “Oh, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Wanker.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “Go to sleep. You need it. I’ll be here to hold you and bring you back to sanity if you wake up.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Close your eyes. I’m right here.”

He snuggled into her side, his arms around her waist. She kept one hand around his shoulders, and with the other she stroked his hair, lulling him into sleep. It wasn’t long at all before his breathing evened out. Rose looked up as the door to her hotel room opened once more. This time it was Romana who poked her head in.

“Rose? I hate to wake you but I have some bad news. It seems the boys can’t find--” Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she saw who was in bed with her sister-in-law. “The Doctor.” She looked back to Rose. “Oh.”

Rose gave her a little smile. “Shhh.”

Romana nodded. “Good night,” she whispered and closed the door quietly after her, already reaching into her pocket for her mobile.

The Doctor’s face scrunched as he furrowed his brow, beginning to fight Rose’s hold on him as he muttered incoherently in his sleep. Rose made soothing shushing sounds and continued to run her fingers through his hair.

“Shh, it’s only a dream,” she murmured in his ear. “Shh, I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe. It’s only a dream.” Softly, she began to hum the lullaby her mother had sung to her so long ago. It was only a few seconds before he calmed, his features smoothing out. She smiled and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Doctor.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!

Rose’s hair was spread out on the pillow like a golden halo, her skin luminous in the glow of the moonlight, streaming in through the window of the Bothal house. The Doctor sat against the headboard of their bed, looking down at her for a long time. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, her jawline, to her neck, wrapping around it.

 _“You’re sick,”_ Lania’s voice whispered in his mind. _“They can all see it. You should just kill yourself before they do it for you…”_

He growled, even as his hands tightened around Rose’s throat. Her eyelids fluttered as she woke, grabbing at his fingers, trying to pry them away.

“Stop!” she uttered, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Doctor, stop!”

 _“Imagine what you would do to the real Rose,”_ whispered Lania.

“This isn’t real,” the Doctor said through gritted teeth.

 _“You could wake up and this will all be real,”_ said Lania.

“Doctor… stop…” Rose begged, her eyes beginning to roll back.

 _“All too real…”_ came Lania’s insidious voice.

The Doctor snarled, shaking his head. “You’re making me do this… I need to wake up! I just need to wake up!”

“Doctor,” Rose breathed. “This is…”

“Wake up! Wake up!” he cried, unable to stop himself from cutting off Rose’s supply of air.

 _“Real,”_ Lania echoed Rose, just as she slumped in the Doctor’s grasp.

He stopped all at once, jerking his hands away from her, letting Rose fall back on the bed. His breath was over-loud in the too-silent room. “Wake up…” he tried again, then louder, in desperation. “Wake up!” He grabbed Rose’s hand, but she didn’t squeeze back. “Rose?” He knelt over her, patting her face gently. “Rose, please wake up! Wake up! Damn it, wake up!” She gave no sign that she heard him. In his panic, he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. “Rose!” he shouted, shaking her shoulders. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “This isn’t real…” he whimpered, then screamed, “THIS ISN’T REAL!”

When he looked at Rose again, Lania’s ghostly image had materialized next to her. _“But it is,”_ she said, smiling smugly. _“Look at her. Lifeless.”_

He gathered her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. “No! Rose!”

 _“She can’t hear you,”_ Lania said in a mocking sing-song voice.

 _“Don’t listen…”_ came another voice, softer, male, but the Doctor could barely hear him over Lania’s taunts.

 _“There’s no hope for you now, whelp,”_ she was saying. _“They will see you as unfit… Diseased…”_

 _“Don’t listen, Doctor!”_ came the man’s whisper again.

 _“They’ll take you out to a field and have all your friends pull you apart!”_ said Lania. As the Doctor screamed for his mate, Lania laughed, the sound growing louder and louder, blocking everything else out.

The next thing the Doctor saw when he opened his eyes, he was loading the gun, the same one from when he’d offered Rose her old life back. He’d kept it in his bottom drawer. He didn’t even know when he’d moved from the bed, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Holding the gun loosely in his hand, he hoisted Rose into his arms and shuffled out of the bedroom.

* * *

Jackie suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, hearing her name being called over and over… but not from the realm of the living. “I’m here,” she said, breathlessly, her heart pounding. “Speak!”

 _“She is here, she will have him!”_ came the spirit’s voice, the one from before. It was a little stronger now, she could tell it was male this time. _“We have to help him!”_

Down the hallway, Jackie suddenly heard the Doctor’s voice, wailing Rose’s name. Pete woke with a start beside Jackie. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Jackie, pushing at his shoulder. “Go! Hurry! Find out what’s going on!”

“Right,” said Pete, rushing out of bed and grabbing his robe as he ran out of the room.

Jackie concentrated on the spirit. “Can you help?”

 _“Too weak,”_ he said.

“Who are you?” she asked.

 _“You won’t trust me,”_ he said, the same as before.

“Look, I’m sure as hell not going to trust you if I don’t know who you are!” she snapped.

She felt the spiritual equivalent of a sigh. _“It’s Harry.”_

Jackie’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh, shite…” She scrambled up out of bed and pulled on her robe as she hurried out of the room and ran down the hall.

Meanwhile, Pete, Mickey, Tony, and Romana were circling the Doctor in the front yard. At his feet was Rose’s body in the snow, unmoving, but still breathing, just unconscious. The Doctor’s hand moved at his side and the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the snowy dark of the wee hours.

“No!” shouted Romana.

“Dude, just chill out!” said Mickey, his hands out as though he were trying to calm a scared animal. “Put the gun down!”

The Doctor wouldn’t look at any of them, would only stare down at Rose with abject despair written large on his face. “How did this happen?” he whispered.

Distantly, Lania’s voice came to him, _“You killed her…”_

“She’s dead,” he said, accepting Lania’s words as truth. His eyes were glazed over, not even seeing that Rose’s chest rose and fell. “I killed her.” Slowly, he lifted the gun to his head.

At that, Tony pulled his own gun from the pocket of his jacket and leveled it at the Doctor. “Drop the gun!” he ordered.

“Don’t do this, Doctor!” said Mickey.

“Put it down!” Tony said, not once taking his eyes off of him.

“This isn’t the answer,” said Pete.

Suddenly, Rose took a deep breath, scrunching up her face as she moaned in pain. The Doctor didn’t seem to hear her.

“Listen to us,” Tony tried again. “Let us help Rose! Drop the gun and put up your hands!”

“Tony,” Rose whispered, her voice rough. “Stop…”

 _“She’s gone,”_ came Lania’s voice to the Doctor, still distant, but stronger. _“They’re trying to take her away from you. Don’t let them!”_

“She’s gone,” he moaned, an echo of the voice in his head.

 _“There’s no more reason,”_ she whispered.

“No reason,” he repeated. “My reason is gone.”

_“Do it…”_

“Before they do it for me,” he said, closing his eyes.

From her position on the ground, Rose tried to get his attention, but was dizzy and weak from passing out. “Doctor… no…” Her voice couldn’t get above a whisper.

Upstairs, in the college boys’ room, Jackie frantically paced the small area while Don flipped pages in the old book. Lewis had all of his ghost tracking machines spread out across his bed, each of them wildly beeping or pinging.

“This is insane!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “The meters are off the charts! The EMF is at seven, SEVEN! This is unprecedented!”

“Shut it, Lewis!” said Don, his fake creepy accent gone. “This is fucking serious!” He made a frustrated noise, dragging a hand through his emo haircut. “This is pointless! I don’t have a spell for this and I don’t know enough Latin to make something up!”

“How do you not know Latin? You said it the other day!” asked Lewis.

“It’s not my Major, arsehole! And you don’t have to _know_ Latin to _read_ it!”

“Shut the hell up, both of you!” Jackie yelled. “The Latin doesn’t mean shit, it’s about transferring your energy to Harry, you don’t have to speak in a different language to accomplish that!”

“Well, how do we do it?” asked Don.

Via Lewis’ sound box, the one giving off a constant stream of static, a man’s voice came through, _“Vessel.”_

Lewis jumped. “Holy shit!”

Jackie translated what the voice meant. “The quickest way is to give him a vessel to use.”

 _“Willing,”_ came the voice through the static box.

“This is incredible!” squeaked Lewis.

“A _willing_ vessel,” Jackie clarified.

“You don’t just walk into a store and buy a vessel!” said Don. “Even if you could, we don’t have time for that!”

“No need,” said Jackie. “We’ve got one here.”

“Where?” asked Don. At Jackie’s pointed look, his shoulders slumped. “Oh, you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”

 _“You_ let her in!” said Jackie, jabbing a pink fingernail in his face. “So, _you’re_ going to help get her out!” Don tried to run out of the room, but she grabbed him by his collar and swung him back around, growling menacingly through her teeth. “You give yourself over to the dead right _now_ , or so help me, I will _make_ you one of them!”

Outside in the snow, the others were still trying to reason with the Doctor. He stared despondently into the distance, not seeing anyone, least of all, Rose, who was moving weakly at his feet, but had to concentrate most of her effort on just staying awake.

“Doctor,” said Pete, steadily, knowing something wasn’t right with him. “She’s breathing, _look_ at her!”

“I…” He seemed to focus on Pete for a moment, but then--

 _“He’s lying,”_ said Lania in his head.

“You’re lying,” the Doctor echoed, grief stricken. “You’re lying to me, Pete!”

 _“There’s no reason left,”_ whispered Lania, and the Doctor repeated her.

“Put down the bloody gun!” shouted Tony.

“Sweetheart, she’s alive!” said Romana. “Just let us help her, okay?”

“NO!” the Doctor growled, suddenly pointing the gun at Romana. Tony pushed her out of the way, standing in front of his mate, keeping his own gun trained on the Doctor. “She’s mine!” the Doctor snarled, baring his teeth. Spit flew from his mouth as he bit out, “Don’t touch her! I’ll tear you apart!”

“This is bollocks!” said Tony, glancing at Pete. “I’ve got a clear shot! Say the word, dad, he goes down!”

“Tony, that’s not the Doctor who’s talking,” said Pete in a low voice. “Something else has got a hold of him.”

The front door of the house opened and Jackie emerged with Don and Lewis, the latter with a host of wires around his neck and both hands full of flashing, beeping equipment.

“It’s Lania!” said Jackie. “She’s trying to claim him for herself, to make him kill himself so they can be together. But we have a plan.”

“And that would be?” asked Pete.

“Pete, he’s sleepwalking!” said Jackie, gesturing at the Doctor.

“He looks pretty damn awake to me!” said Tony.

“She can only affect him directly when he’s dreaming,” explained Jackie. “If we can wake him up, we can break her hold on him.”

“Okay, how?” asked Pete.

“Well… we haven’t exactly figured that part out yet.”

Pete looked between her and the two boys then narrowed his gaze. “Jacks, what the hell are you going to do?” he demanded.

Jackie closed her eyes, gathering her power to her, from the side of herself she’d kept closed off for so many years. The wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face, and stirring the banks of snow on the ground. The others looked around as the atmosphere sparked and crackled with energy. Jackie lifted her hands to the sky and chanted, “Open the gates between the world of the living and the dead! Allow only those who are lost to pass back into your realm!”

Jackie grimaced as the area around them became a gusty, swirling vortex of snow, the wind howling as a bright green light shone down from the stars. The faces of ghost-like beings emerged from the snowy cyclone, their mouths yawning widely at the people within the circle, whispering words that couldn’t be fully heard, not above the wind. Mickey squeaked and moved closer to Tony, who glared at him and held Romana tightly. Jackie struggled to maintain the opening with her strength while at the same time keeping back the souls of the dead from crossing through to the world of the living.

“Go!” she yelled at Don.

Don closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them, his black eyes blazed a brilliant coppery amber. When he spoke, it was neither in his fake accent or his real tones, but in Harry’s voice. “Lania! It’s over! Let him go!”

“You’re mine! You’re mine!” shrieked Lania, her voice now audible through the void Jackie had opened.

“You’re mine, Rose!” said the Doctor, still under Lania’s influence, but transferring it to his mate. “I’ll never let you go!”

Lania screamed with rage. “No! You are mine!” The Doctor gripped his head, shouting in pain at the mental onslaught.

“Doctor, you’re asleep!” said Don in Harry’s voice.

“No, this is real!” said Lania.

“Wake up, whelp!” said Harry. “Shake this off and wake up!”

The Doctor shook his head. “Harry?” he asked, realizing who was speaking through Don. “My name is--”

“The Doctor, yeah,” said Harry. “You made that quite clear.”

“I… I beat you…” said the Doctor, struggling with the scenario since he was convinced what was happening was real, but he also knew Harry couldn’t be alive.

“I let you,” smirked Harry.

“Bullshit!”

“Wake up and prove me wrong!”

“Doctor…” called Rose from the ground, weakly. “Please, wake up!”

He blinked and looked down at her, confused, then at the gun in his hand. “Rose? You’re alive?” He looked around at the others. “Why are we outside?”

“NO!” screamed Lania as she lost her grip on the Doctor’s subconscious. “You are mine! I won’t go back alone! No marriage! No wedding! MINE!”

“He’s coming to!” shouted Harry. “Do whatever you’re going to do before she gets ahold of his mind again!”

“What the hell are _we_ supposed to do?” asked Mickey.

“No marriage?” Pete repeated to himself. His eyes lit up as it hit him. “Of course!”

He ran over to Rose and the Doctor, grabbing the gun from the slack hand of the latter and throwing it off to the side, before helping Rose to her feet. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight. The Doctor put her arms around his neck and wrapped his about her waist, holding her up.

“Among us right now is the spirit of the sacred,” said Pete over the wind, reciting formally what he’d been rehearsing privately all week. “It binds us together, as we bind these two souls. We shall come and go, but this spirit, this bond, is eternal. We have assembled to bless this marriage and strengthen this bond. Do you support it?”

“The fucking sky is falling and you want to read poetry?” said Mickey.

“I will rip off your dick if you don’t just say ‘yes!’” spat Tony. At that, everyone but Rose, the Doctor, and Pete announced their support for the union.

“We were supposed to do this tomorrow,” said Rose, her voice still raspy.

“Just do this part, sweetheart,” said Pete. “Both of you, just like we rehearsed.”

“No, no, no!” Lania was screaming above the sound of the wind howling around them.

“Hurry!” called Harry, using Don’s body to hold Jackie up as she swayed on her feet.

“I can’t keep it open much longer!” she cried.

“Doctor, why are you here?” asked Pete.

The Doctor blinked his eyes again, trying to stay cognitive. “I seek a mate,” he said, his voice slightly woozy, but steady. “My hunt has grown lonely and the moon is poor solace.”

“Is there one amongst us who has heard his cry and will answer?” asked Pete.

“I have,” said Rose. “I give myself to him and recognize him as my mate, always.”

“We’ll deal with rings later,” said Pete, quickly, before going back to the recitation. “Now, you will feel no rain, for you shall be each other’s shelter. You shall feel no cold, for you will be each other’s warmth. Now, you will never be alone. You are two bodies, but there is only one life between you. Now, you walk together in the hunt, no longer is the moon your only solace. May your days be long upon the earth!”

Lania shrieked again and Harry shouted, “Do it now!”

“For God’s sake, kiss her!” Pete said to the Doctor, who instantly complied, pulling Rose even more tightly to him. As she melted against him, another scream came through the void.

“Got you!” Harry cried, and Don’s eyes closed as Harry left his body, which slumped onto the ground.

The ghostly howling rose to a fever pitch and the snow became blinding, whooshing around everyone, until the snowy apparitions were all sucked up into the sky and the green light blazed hot for one instant, then disappeared. Jackie fell down next to Don in a faint.

“Jacks!” Pete exclaimed and he ran to her, kneeling down beside her.

The Doctor gently pulled back from his kiss with Rose, and smiled down at her, a little dazed. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, warmly. He looked at their surroundings, furrowing his brow. “When did we get back from Blackpool?”

She goggled at him. “Really?”

Mickey jogged over and pounded the Doctor on the back. “Dude! My weddings were _never_ like this!” He held up his hand. “Up top, bro!” The Doctor just glared at him. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging!”

His friend shook his head and gathered his new wife into his arms before turning to go inside the house.

Mickey made a face at his back. “Weak.” For good measure, he self-fived with his opposite hand.

* * *

Harry and Lucy came to a stop in front of the glass wall in the white room. The therapist shook her head, her fathomless black eyes sad as she looked at Lania who clawed at the walls and screamed for them to release her, sobbing hysterically.

“Does she have to stay in there?” asked Harry.

“Some just need more treatment than others,” said the therapist. “The sooner she accepts help, the sooner she can get well. Then, she can move on.”

“It’s so sad,” Lucy said, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. He unlaced their hands and put his arm around her waist instantly. “Her mate… Is he waiting?”

The therapist nodded. “As soon as she’s ready, he’ll be here. Right now, though, she’s not who he remembers at all.”

“Please don’t leave me alone!” Lania begged, reaching out to the glass toward Harry. “Not again! Please!”

“I never meant to cause this, Lania,” said Harry, sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

Lania pounded on the glass with her fists, her face contorted in an ugly grimace. “You belong to me! You are MINE, Harry! I made you!” Suddenly, she was back to begging, “Don’t leave me!”

“I can see we need more treatments, Lania,” said the therapist. “This is a safe place to let go.”

“No!” she cried. “I’ll never let go! They are mine! Don’t leave me!”

The therapist sighed. “She’s going to be a while.” She turned to Harry, giving him a thoughtful look. “You, though. Do you feel you’ve made your peace? Did all this help?”

Harry nodded, but he was frowning as he looked at the spotless white floor. “I just wish I could have warned them.”

The therapist scrunched up her nose a bit. “That wouldn’t have been healthy.” She put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Do you feel you’ve done all you can? Are you ready to forgive yourself?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at Lucy, who smiled at him. “I am.”

“Good,” said the therapist, looking pleased. “I think we may be done, then.”

* * *

The Doctor carried his mate, now his wife, up to their bedroom. It wasn't until he laid her down and looked at her that he realized this was where he'd nearly strangled Rose to death. He began to shake, panic filling him. What if Lania wasn't really gone? What if it happened again? What if...?

Seeing his distress, Rose sat up and grabbed him, pulling him down next to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her shoulder as tears fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is wrong, I almost killed you, I should be comforting _you_ , I'm so sorry..."

She whispered soothing nonsense until his tears had stopped for the most part. He lifted his head, looking at her with red-rimmed eyes. "How?" he asked. "How can you save me? How can you even bear to be _near_ me? How do I deserve you?"

"I love you," she said simply, one answer for all three questions.

Because he had no words to express how much her love meant to him, he kissed her, slowly, softly, missing all the haste of their earlier kiss. She opened for him, humming a quiet moan as he stroked her tongue with his. Gently, he eased her out of her pajamas, wet from the snow, sliding his mouth from hers to kiss each exposed area as it was revealed. Reverently, he kissed her neck, over the dark marks that were forming. Her fingers glided through his hair, calming his guilt minutely.

She tugged at his pajama bottoms, already tented with his desire for her. He lifted himself up a bit to assist her in pulling them down, then kicked them off the rest of the way. She made to touch him, but he took her hand, shaking his head. Instead, he encouraged her to lie back and he helped her out of her bottoms and knickers, then kissed her ankles and legs, lifting them a bit to lave the inside of each knee with his tongue.

He moved higher, pressing kisses to her sensitive inner thighs, then her nether lips, sucking gently on each labia before delving within. The hoarse moans that Rose uttered were a balm to his soul. He didn't know how long he spent, devouring her, didn't know how many orgasms bathed his face in her hot moisture, but he would have stayed there longer, had she not tugged on his hair to bring him up.

"Need you," she breathed.

Watching her face flushed in passion as he slid into her was nearly his undoing. Seated deeply inside her, he felt the answering connection within his heart. This was his home. Joined with Rose, forever. The pace he set was slow, steady, never wanting it to end.

"Love you," he gasped, saying it over and over. "My Rose... I love you!"

She cried out, her inner muscles convulsing around him, making his rhythm stutter and he groaned, coming just after her. She pulled him down with her hands in his hair, crashing their mouths together, kissing sloppily around moans and gasps for breath. He was shaking again, this time from the force of their love for one another.

* * *

Rory groaned as the alarm on his mobile went off and he flung an arm over his eyes for a moment before rolling over to turn the annoying sound off. He sat up and looked over his shoulder at Amy, who was still snoring away. They hadn’t spoken since their big fight, but if he didn’t wake her up, she’d sleep through the wedding. Yawning, he gently shook her shoulder.

“Come on, Amy. Time to get up.”

“No,” she mumbled, snuggling deeper into her pillow. “The morning sun is my sworn enemy.”

“Therapy, then wedding stuff, then wedding,” he listed for her. “You have a busy day, so let’s go.”

“No,” she said again, though it was clear she was a bit more awake. “I’ve decided today is a bad day to be out of bed.”

“Regardless of how you feel about it, you have to be up today,” he said.

“I don’t have to do shit except stay black and die.”

He blinked. “Um… Amy?”

“Yeah, I know.” A hand emerged from the duvet and waved in his general direction. “Can we look past the fact that it doesn’t make any sense? Odds are that this is all for nothing anyway. They were probably married in some kind of secret ceremony already and this is just a show for everyone else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She shoved the duvet down and glared at him. “Why are you so cranky?”

“Why?” he asked, practically shouting as he launched himself out of the bed. Rory was one thousand percent done. “I asked you to marry me and you told me to fuck off!” His face was thunderous, but it was a little hard to take seriously, since he was only wearing his pants. “You accused me of only asking because I felt sorry for you and then you got drunk and let wasted strangers push you headlong through Blackpool like some sort of parade float!” Amy looked down at the duvet, biting her lip. “Yes, I _heard_ about that. Romana told me when we all got back here. But I cried in front of strippers! _Strippers_ , Amy! I think one of them was a man! I’m _still_ not sure.”

“It was a bad day!” said Amy, lightly, shrugging one shoulder like the events he’d mentioned meant nothing. “Like the song says, let it go!”

“Let it-- Ugh!” He threw his hands in the air. “You are impossible!”

Amy sat up and stretched her arms, tilting her head to either side to work the kinks out. “Today is a new day!” she declared. “A better day! An Amy-was-an-idiot-and-now-realizes-there-will-be-occasional-setbacks kind of day.” Her voice went a bit softer, more serious. “The kind of day filled with words like, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you, Rory’ and ‘Please ask me again because I promise I won’t tell you to fuck off.’”

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, his expression fading into one that was cautiously hopeful. “Really? It’s that kind of day?”

Amy scooted over on her bum in order to cuddle up to Rory. “Yep. I’m sorry. Please? Ask me again?”

He let her put her arms around his neck, but he turned his face away from her. “Nope! You said it would be a day _filled_ with these sorts of words. If I ask you again right now, all the creamy guilt filling will be sucked out of the day.”

“I’ll still say I’m sorry and that I love you,” she promised.

“But all the ‘please ask me again’s will be gone,” he pointed out and shook his head. “Can’t have that.”

She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “This is what I get for a bad day?”

“Crying in front of strippers, Amy,” he reminded her.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting off easy.” She gave him a small smile. “I do love you, though.”

He returned it, feeling warmth spreading within him for the first time in two days. “I love you, too.” He kissed her nose, then stood up, making her let go of him. “Now, get dressed and get ready!”

“UGH,” she said, heaving an exasperated breath. “Oh, all right.”

* * *

Jake and Clara hovered around Rose as she sat at the dressing table in her brand new undergarments, applying her makeup. Hairspray hovered in the air, a faint fruity miasma, as Clara sprayed and Jake curled Rose’s blonde locks into a gorgeous up-do.

“Promise me you won’t bleach this anymore,” Jake pleaded with Rose. “I’m afraid one of these curls is going to burn right off, your hair is so fried!”

“Yes, Jake, I’m aware that my hair hurts you deeply,” she deadpanned. “Maybe I’ll let it go natural again. Or I could try red. The Doctor mentioned having a thing about ginger hair, once.”

“Where did you get those bruises?” Clara asked, pointing at Rose’s neck as the hair was swept up away from it.

“Clara, I don’t ask about how rough the sex is between you and Matt, do I?” asked Rose, deflecting the question.

It worked. Clara’s eyes went wide. “Rose! Ew!”

“Because let me tell you,” Rose went on, laying it thick, “erotic asphyxia would blow your mind! Oooh, so good!”

Jake laughed at Clara’s red face. “I could have gone my whole life without hearing that,” said Clara. “But the necklace and some makeup should cover it up.”

Rose sighed, tired from last night and irritated by all the fussing. “Fabulous.”

Her friend furrowed her brow. Rose had been acting weary all morning. She noted her pale complexion and dull eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I just…” Suddenly, her white face turned a bit green. “I think I’m gonna throw up!”

She ran for the bathroom and honked into the toilet as Clara asked “Again?”

Jake sighed. “I’m going to be fixing that hair all day, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”

A knock came at the door and Clara went to open it. The Doctor stood on the other side, nervously tugging at the bow tie of the tuxedo Clara made him wear by threatening to burn his favorite suits. She gasped a bit and closed the door until it was only open a few inches.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You know you can’t see her until the wedding!”

“I thought that was just the dress,” said the Doctor.

“No, it’s the _bride_ , silly!”

“She’s not in the dress yet,” said Jake. “She’s in her pretty bridal underwear.”

“Okay, now I _have_ to see her.” The Doctor put one hand flat on the door and pushed, but Clara was surprisingly strong. “Oh, come on, Clara, please?”

“But tradition!” she said, grunting with the effort of keep the door closed.

Jake sighed. “Sweetie, just let him in for right now. We can’t do anything until she stops throwing up, anyway.”

“Throwing up?” the Doctor asked in concern. “Is she all right?”

“It’s nerves,” said Jake, breezily. “She’ll be fine.” He gently took Clara by the elbow and moved her away from the door so the Doctor could come in. “In you come, we’ll be outside.”

“But, but!” sputtered Clara as Jake led her into the hall.

“No ‘buts,’” he said. “Come on, you need a glass of champagne, or three…”

As the Doctor closed the door after them, the toilet in the loo flushed and Rose emerged, looking like a naughty angel in her frothy lace underthings. His mouth watered at the sight.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Her face lit up and she ran to him, standing up on her toes and throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh God, I’m so glad to see you!”

He smiled, holding her tightly, unable to help his reaction to having her nearly-nude body up against his. “You look amazing, Mrs. Smith,” he said.

She chuckled. “I will never get used to that.”

“Yeah, but you may learn to accept it.”

“I might.”

He rubbed her back, resisting the very strong urge to undo her bra hooks as his fingers trailed over it. “Nervous?”

She nodded. “I think a little.” She blew out a breath and bit her lip. "Okay, maybe a lot." She eased herself down off her toes to look up at him, her eyes searching his. “You really don’t remember anything about last night?”

His mouth tightened, obviously upset by what he’d been told about the incident. “The last thing I remember is falling asleep in your arms in Blackpool. Then, we were being married by Pete outside the house. That’s it.”

Rose shook her head. “A whole day gone.”

“Did I miss much?”

She laughed lightly. “No.”

He looked away, exhaling hard through his nose. “Just sleepwalking attempted murder-suicide.”

She turned his face back to hers with a hand on his cheek. “Hey,” she said, smiling. “Forget it.”

He pressed a kiss to her palm and then her lips, murmuring against them, “Your wish is my command.”

She grinned, then stood back, running her hands down the lapels of his tux. “Go on, love. I have to put on a ridiculous dress and finish getting all dolled up.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “But I like how you look _now_.”

Tucking her tongue into the corner of her mouth, she said, “Well, remember it, because you won’t recognize me in an hour.”

He joined in her laughter and kissed her again, then reluctantly backed away and opened the door, because if he didn’t, he’d throw her down on the bed. Clara was standing just outside, tapping her foot. “We’re done,” he told her.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, brushing past him. “We are going to be so late!”

Jake pushed away from the wall where he’d been waiting and looked the Doctor over appreciatively. “Looking good, Doctor,” he said, then frowned. “Except for the bow tie. The bow tie is tragic. Are you a waiter or a groom?”

“A groom who used to be a waiter,” said the Doctor with a cheeky grin. “And the bow tie stays.”  
“Why?”

Rose poked her head out of the room. “Because bow ties are cool,” she said, grabbing Jake and pulling him into the room. “Obviously.”


End file.
